


The Myriad Adventures of Goblin Mutant and Graceless Cat

by chapstickaddict



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canon? What Canon?, F/M, Just and fondess and exasperation, M/M, Not an angsty story at all, This is a land of rainbows and kittens and happy endings, With a side of internal introspection had by all, and Fíli simultaneously babysitting everyone while being so done with them, cuteness, srsly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chapstickaddict/pseuds/chapstickaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reclaiming Erebor, Legolas cannot say he's surprised to learn that his Guard Captain ran off with a dwarf. Planning to stalk the Crown Prince to find where the lovers ran off to, he ends up far from home with an unimpressed and overly armed older brother, a hobbit skilled in serving cookies with a healthy dose of guilt on the side, and a small red-headed tag-along that sends his head spinning in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Myriad Adventures of Goblin Mutant and Graceless Cat

Erebor sat in shambles in the wake of a dragon and a battle. Dust and rust combined with blood and steel to create an odd permutation in the air, stirring the nostrils and displeasing to the eye. Fíli had done his best to lend his services where he could, be it in repairs or at his uncle's side. But he had been quick to learn that once orders had been given, it was best just to get out of the way as they where carried out by more competent hands. Skilled stonemasons, blacksmiths, and merchants had been pouring into Erebor for the past half year, plying their trades with relentless determination. With the seemingly endless droves of dwarrows from all walks of life appearing at the gate each day, there was nowhere a helping hand could not be lent. The skills of a young prince who knew little more than his sword and his family were often trumped by those with decades of devotion and experience behind their craft.

So Fíli son of Víli, Crown Prince Under the Mountain, Heir to the Line of Durin, called Lion Lord by many, took shelter in his true calling as an older sibling: babysitting.

Walking through the new cobblestones of the remade markets of Dale, Fíli made sure to keep a firm grip on Tilda's hand. The youngest Bardling often got distracted by the bright, colorful booths lining the walkways and would wonder them for hours if given the chance. Just ahead of them, Bain was in constant motion as he darted between stalls and merchants alike in search of new treasures. Fíli found it was a task all its own to keep even half an eye on him for as quick as he was. Sigrid was easier to spot with her hair done up in a traditional dwarrow maiden pattern designed to keep her long blonde-brown tresses secure and out of her way as she combed through a local cloth merchant's wares. That morning Tilda had plaited Sigrid's hair under Fíli's watchful eye, and he was proud to see how well the braids had fared during their adventures through Erebor's kitchens, Dwalin's training yard, and Dale's chaotic crowds.

"Can we go to the docks next?" Tilda requested, full of the kind of energy only the youthful seemed to possess. "I want to see the ships come in."

"Don't you think you’d be tired after all we’ve done today?" he asked, allowing her to swing their linked arms as she thought about it.

"I shouldn't think so," she commented after a moment, her face scrunched in a ponderous expression that was strongly reminiscent of her father.

"Well I surely am," he replied. “We'll save the docks for next week. Bain!" he called, smiling when a small, dark head poked out from behind a bookseller's stall. "Time to leave. Grab your sister, will you?"

Sigrid grumbled half-heartedly at being pulled away from the luxurious silks and wools she had found.

"The clothes I could make, Fíli!" she exclaimed, running her fingers over a bolt of thick wool dyed an attractive shade of red. "This for father, I think."

Fíli silently agreed. “I'm sure your new housekeeper could find you any fabric you asked for," he pointed out, just managing to keep a straight face as Sigrid rolled her eyes.

"They never bring me the right quality," she complained, even as she allowed them to pull her away. "They keep insisting on velvet and satin, and other ridiculous notions. How's anyone suppose to get a day's work done when they worry about their clothes ripping at the slightest strain?"

"It itches, too," Bain added, as Fíli herded them out of the marketplace and toward the calmer residential district. "I spend the whole day thinking I'm flea infested."

Over the past months, Bard and his children had been quick to discover some aspects of their sudden rise to nobility to be rather constraining. It struck something familiar and aching in Fíli to watch them all struggle with new expectations and duties, so he did his best to ease as much of the burden as he could. He made sure to arrange quiet escapes and lighthearted adventures for the Bardlings, whose childhoods had been filled with the kind of bleak tragedy that ones so young should not have to endure. And he lent himself as a trusted companion for a brave bowmen who had slain a dragon and stumbled into a title he had no desire for.

The newly repaired mansion of the Lord of Dale stood grand at the end of a winding lane, and the Lord himself sat outside the front door with his feet propped on a sprawling bench, his pipe in hand. With him in sight, Fíli released Tilda's hand so she could rush forward to show her father all the trinkets she had collected in her pockets throughout the day. Bain and Sigrid were not far behind as they surrounded their weary-looking sire.

Fíli stood to the side as they regaled Bard with tales of their day and showing off the trophies won. As exhausted as Bard was, he smiled at each of them and listened with apt attention to their stories. The sheer devotion he directed to his children never failed to make Fíli’s heart warm. He had been raised to understand that family was everything, and it thrilled him that it was just as crucial to Bard.

"I hope they weren’t too much of a burden," Bard commented after he had kissed his children’s cheeks and sent them inside for supper.

"You know they never are," Fíli commented, settling in on the bench next to him. Glancing to his side, he could not say he was happy with what he saw. "Still not sleeping?"

Bard groaned, letting the back of his head thump against the wall behind him. "There were years of my life I could fall asleep on the prow of my barge and wake well rested," he admitted. "But now with feather beds and silk sheets it eludes me.”

When they had arrived Bard had placed his pipe down on the table next to them, and Fíli’s fingers were packing and lighting it before he even realized he has picked it up. Passing it over earned him a compassionate groan of approval, which he was happy to dwell on as he lit his own.

"Surely you must be exhausted after all this." Fíli cast his hand out, encompassing Dale in its entirety. The city became a flurry of activity from dawn until dusk each day since its reestablishment.

"I should. But every time I lay my head down my mind refuses to quit. I used to struggle to feed four mouths, and now I'm tasked with the responsibility of feeding thousands. I now know the price of lumbar and plaster and iron when all I used to care of was the price of fish by the pound. I know why the Merchant's Guild despises the Smith's Guild and that three brothels have already found residence in the mill district," Bard let wisps of smoke curl out of his nostrils. "Why do I know these things?"

"Because a good Lord needs too," Fíli replied, sympathetic. Thorin had spent many days drilling him on similar matters. At least he did when he was not bemoaning his lack of respectable burglars around the mountain.

"I don't want to be a good Lord," Bard muttered, a bit petulant. "I want to be a well-rested Lord."

Fíli was not sure what wanted to come out of his mouth in that moment, be he was fairly sure it wanted to be an offer to help Bard on that score. However, the words stalled from passing his lips by a shifting in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. One of Bard's guards, stationed far enough way not to eavesdrop but close enough to act at any sign of danger, stepped before them both just as a messenger turned the corner and dashed down the path towards them.

"Royal Highness," he heard. "You must return! Prince Kíli has vanished!" 

*

Legolas raced the river downstream, his booted feet pressing a light touch on the smooth, slippery rocks. In three bounding strides he came to an easy rest on a high mount with an expansive view over the rapids. He took his time in observing every nook and cranny of the thinning woodlands, but try as he might he could catch no sign of his wayward friend.

He bit back a sigh and pondered his next move. Tauriel knew how displeased his father could become with her venturings beyond their borders. But she was always driven a desire to explore the unknown, and would often wander to the very edges of the woodlands in her free time. In the past, he always found her in countless places across the Greenwood. In the deep, grassy meadows to the south, stalking fireflies with mud on her clothes and tangles in her hair. Or in the far west, dangling from treetops while covered in clinging spiderwebs and stray bits of fletching from head to heel.

But he could not find her now. He thought to search the river last, hoping the fondness she felt for it would reveal her. She was known to spend countless hours staring out into the crashing tides, watching them narrow down to trickles and feed into the town of Men just outside their borders. In the distance, the Lonely Mountain stood proud, its jagged rocks draped in gray and purple hues all covered in a coat of ever white snow. But Tauriel was no where to be found.

Out of places to search, Legolas could only hope she managed to make it home before anyone began to miss her presence. As she was not in someplace typical, it could only mean she was somewhere atypical, and someplace she was not meant to be. When someone asked her, Legolas felt sure she would be bound to lie about it. But Tauriel was an atrocious liar, and there was no fun in watching her try.

Flitting back through the trees, Legolas kept an eye out for his surroundings. The spiders crept out of Dol Guldur with alarming frequency over the years, and more than once Legolas stumbled upon pockets of them while out on his wonderings. The look of worried exasperation on his father’s face when he came home covered in the greasy innards and sticky webs of their forrest pests always made Legolas shuffle his feet like a mere century old elfling.

The moment he reentered the palace gates, he knew something was amiss. The guards stood stiller than normal. Their postures stood stiff and unbending. Their eyes locked forward with no acknowledgement of the action around them. Their grips on their weapons were white-knuckled.

Legolas took a step back and leaned over sideways to put himself in the eye line of Melwasúl, a younger guardian whom Legolas had known for centuries. Melwasúl was a gentle, changeable soul who bore his thoughts on his face like a scroll bore text.

“What happened?” he asked with a light tone, noting as Melwasúl lips pressed together in an attempt to keep the words from tumbling out.

“I have no knowledge of what you ask of, your Highness,” Melwasúl said, the words holding a well-practiced cadence, even with the shaky delivery.

“Truly? Then may I ask what has you so tense, mellon,” Legolas replied, a tiny smile playing across his lips despite himself as he entertained Melwasúl’s obvious attempt at deceit.

He never claimed to be anything other than his father’s son. 

“Leave the poor boy alone,” came a grumbled voice from within the halls. Galion strode towards them both, appearing as crotchety and put-out as he always did. “He’ll faint from all the intentions you put upon him, and than I’ll be forced to reorganize the guard roster. And that is a headache I would rather you not subject me to, my Prince."

“Secrets are a weighty burden,” Legolas replied, drawing away from Melwasúl with a kind, apologetic smile. “I merely wished to ease his conscious."

“Not secrets. Simply orders to stay silent about topics in your presence until others could broach them first.”

“Secrets,” Legolas related in a flat tone. 

“As you say, my Prince,” Galion seceded, waving his hand to dismiss the matter. “But rest easy in mastery revealed. We found this."

In his pale hands rested a delicate envelope with Legolas' name scrolled across its front in Tauriel's careless scribble. Staring at it in bemusement, Legolas wondered if this was how his father felt when confronted with inescapable lunacy in the form of his subjects. For surely, no elf could be this foolish by choice. 

“Needless to say,” Galion continued, looking like the entire palace could fall into the river for all he cared. “We have not informed his Majesty.” 

*

As the knife slipped out of his grip yet again, Gimli felt prepared to admit whittling was not in his set of skills. He had only begun working at it for the past few months, but already cuts littered his fingers as wounds from an ill-aimed blade. Just last week he had about taken the top of his knuckle off when his attention wondered too far while his hands worked.

But Gimli son of Glóin was nothing if not stubborn, and he would be damned if a block of wood and a knife got the better of him. There was a calming element to it too, he supposed. The constant repetition of movement allowed his thoughts to settle from a day of constant chaos and unending chores. Below him, the city of Thorin’s Halls began to awaken, dwarrows of all trades rising with the morning bells. Before him, the early morning sun rose to summon the day.

Gimli tried to excite himself about the start of the day, but all he could muster up was some bland acknowledgement of it. He loved his family and his people, but the perpetual drone of life in Thorin’s Halls felt stifling. The city focused so deeply on itself that it could only recognize the outside world in brief intervals. And even than it was reluctantly and with a profound layer of suspicion.

He knew of his people’s history. Of the betrayal and strife, of brutality and rejection that dogged their every step. When asked, he could explain as well as any dwarrow the past injuries and horrors of the kings of his line. But that did not stop him from daydreaming about adventures and stories outside the walls. It did not stop the desire that burned within him for something more.

He had taken up rounds in the lookout guard to relieve some of that. It proved mind-numbing when weeks would amble by with nothing seen for miles while he still stood on uninterrupted alert at his post. But Gimli already craved the arrivals, and the small glimpse of a life beyond what he knew. He did not get to feel like that often, but it was enough for now. 

So when a flicker in the distance caught his eye, his blood began beating in his veins. The dawn light in the valley was not much to see by, and it turned the far tree line into a hazy shift of leafy green. Yet, he could still make out shadows bending against the wind. 

“Now what do we have here,” he muttered to himself, setting the knife and block aside as he leaned forward. The distance stung his eyes, but he ignored the twinges in them as the rush of excitement filled him.

As he watched, a pair of figures separated from the shade of the trees and made their way across the grassy road towards them in quick steps. One was dark-haired and familiar to Gimli’s gaze but the other was tall, with hair like a simmering forge and clothes designed for hiding amongst trees and brush rather than stone and shadows. That figure stumped him.

“What did you do?” Gimli asked himself, even as he rose to his feet to alert the guardsmen at the gate. It would not do for one of Durin’s Princes to be shot at just because he did not have the good sense to announce his arrival. 

*

Fíli was going to kill his brother. Only Kíli could believe running off with his red-headed elvish captain would be a wise idea with no thought to any sort of plan. Now Fíli was left trekking across mountain and meadow and glen to find him. He only just managed to convince Thorin and Balin not to unleash Dwalin on the lovers' trail, playing hard on the fact that Kíli never responded well to being ordered around by his elders and was more like to hide from Dwalin than from his brother. Thorin had not been happy to allow both of his heirs out of his sight, but Fíli held his ground and refused even a ceremonial guard. If he was going to follow this foolhardy plan through, he would rather not have an audience for it, even a loyal and discreet audience.

And if he wanted time away from Erebor and every dwarf in it, that was no one’s business but his own.

Bard had offered to send men with him as well, or even accompany him as far as he could manage within the constrains of his duties, but Fíli turned that offer down as well, as painful as it was to do so. He would not have minded the company, but Dale needed its ruler, and the Bardlings their father (no matter how loudly Bain complained that he was old enough to help, really he was). It hurt him to turn both offers away, but Bard merely smiled in a way that twisted Fíli’s heart in odd ways and wished him luck.

“Hurry back,” he said. “I fear I already find myself in want of your company.”

It had been one of the hardest moments of Fíli’s life to walk away from that. Damn Thorin for his prejudices, and damn Kíli for running from them rather than confronting them.

The goblins had not been a part of his plan, either. He felt his annoyance at this point was entirely justified.

A few quick swipes of his sword, and Fíli dispatched the pesky goblin in front of him before spinning on the balls of his feet to confront the next one--only to find an arrow lodged in the fallen creature's eye. He dismissed it for the moment, lunging towards his next foe with little thought but toward victory.

It was a small band in the end, most likely only a scouting party. Fíli dispatched the last handful with practiced ease and stepped back to take stock. A few steps took him back to the curious arrow, an he yanked it free of brain and bone for a closer inspection.

Elvish. Well-made, and oddly familiar. Tilting it toward the ground to look down the shaft, Fíli let his attention wonder up to the tree line. Was that why Thorin yielded to his wishes to go alone? Despite himself, Fíli was impressed with the shot; if it came from the tree line, the archer had excellent sight.

"Are you going to follow me from tree branch to tree branch the entire time?" he called out in the general direction he guessed the other was.

The trees did not so much as rustle in reply. Fíli's lips twitched in resparked annoyance, but he let it go, instead moving to gather his fallen weapons.

His pack survived the scuffle unharmed, though the side would need stitching once he was done. Fíli growled and kicked a severed half of goblin corpse away as he dug for his missing throwing axe. Mahal, but the things he did for his brother. He hoped Kíli appreciated the amount of effort he was going through to ensure his silly plan succeeded.

It took more effort than Fíli liked to wrestle one of his smaller daggers from the eye socket of a particularly twisted goblin, but after a few moments it ceded to his strength and wrenched free of skull and muscle. Fili gave it a decisive wipe on his boot before sheathing it as he rose to his feet. He did a quick mental count when something in his mind made him pause and he let his eyes wonder out among the bodies.

Every arrow that littered the field before was now missing, even the one he pulled out of the goblin's eye and discarded moments before. Biting back a swear, he looked for footprints or any signs of another being. His back had only been turned for a heartbeat or two after all.

Fíli scanned the tree line with more care and attention this time. This time, just out of the corner of of his eye, a flash of green and gold flickered. He took a cautious step forward, but the elf (for that was all his shadow could be) disappeared back into the trees before he could do anything else.

In the distant corner of his memory, Fíli remembered playing a game like this with Kíli. Together they would sneak up on a seemingly unaware Dwalin, each daring the other to see if they could get close enough to touch the fur of his boots or even work free one of the daggers from his waist. He could still recall the surge of adrenaline as they scurried to hide when eyes turned their way.

He wondered if Dwalin thought them as obvious as he found his new traveling companion. He toyed with the notion of evading his elvish shadow, but it did not appeal past the initial spark of contrary rebellion. It was no matter. His mother had always taught him to make due with what he was given, and right now he was given a second pair of eyes and a somewhat trustworthy archer to watch his back. 

He turned his back to the tree line and went in search of the rest of his weapons. 

*

The elf turned out to be more fleeting than Fíli expected. He traveled a full week with no hint of the other's presence; no evidence of other campfires, no flashes of movement among the red and green leaves, no signs of any living being besides himself for miles. He had thought about calling out again to draw him out and confirm his existence, but opted instead for endurance. Years of experience with Kíli taught him that the silent treatment only worked for those who understood the value of patience. And his elvish shadow did not feel patient in the slightest.

As predictable as a lodestone, patience yielded results. Near the end of his second week on the road he awoke to find a figure settled in beside the dregs of his small campfire.

"About time," he grumbled. It was far too early to even pretend at civilized behavior, and his body ached from a cold night on hard ground.

The elf stared at him with ice in his eyes, still as stone. Fair haired too, rather than the dark locks Fíli associated with their neighbors in Mirkwood. His clothes were well made, fashioned to endure and to protect--though Fíli found leather a poor substitute for steel. Across his back rested the bow he knew about, but Fíli could also spot a collection of knives strapped to his body. No sword or axe, but he supposed the elf's long reach meant it was not so much of a problem as it was for dwarves.

His face registered as an afterthought.

“You're Thranduil's son," Fíli recalled with a start, stretching his mind back to remember a name to go along with the lineage. Green…green…something…. Fíli’s fingers itched to snap together to help hurry his thoughts along. Thorin kept trying to break him of the habit for years now, to little success.

"And you’re Thorin's nephew," the elf replied in a tone that clearly wondered if Fíli was touched in the head. Fíli considered pursuing that line of insult before he thought better of it. It had not worked out in their favor last time and it reminded him too much of his uncle’s behavior.

“I'm happy to see you decided to join me like a civilized being," he settled on, kicking out the last few glowing embers from the campfire.

The elf did not move so much as a muscle.

"Do you know where they’re going?"

"I have some ideas," Fíli decided to share. It had not occurred to him that Mirkwood would also send someone for Tauriel. Then again, he could boast little knowledge of the inner workings of Thranduil's court. “Its likely they went to our family out west in the Blue Mountains."

"Why would they go west?" the elf replied, watching him collect his things with an unblinking stare. "They could’ve decided to make their way south, perhaps to Rivendell or Rohan."

"Perhaps. I’m headed west all the same. Feel free to continue to follow me from the shadows, if you prefer."

Silence reigned for a good while, though he could feel restlessness rolling off the elf in waves.

"Why do you think they went to the mountains?"

Unbelievably, the question came in a tone filled with equal parts bafflement and determination, like a student unhappy with his own understanding of a simple problem rather than the aggressive demand of a spoiled child that Fíli had been expecting. In that instant, Fíli completely shifted his assumption of their tentative partnership, and answered with the truth.

"Thorin will never bless a marriage between them. My mother is another matter." Kíli was her youngest and her heart.

Personally, Fíli thought Thorin was being ridiculous. Their mother managed to successfully marry below her station. Víli certainly had not been the richest, most blue-blooded, or most influental of her suitors, but he had been her One, and he had made her happy. But she also held support for her choice from Thorin and Dáin, two personalities not lightly crossed. No chance of that happening this time, but it did set a precedence Fíli would be shameless about exploiting.

And, for all Fíli did not wish dwell on the point, Kíli was a second son. His choices were not scrutinized to the level of Fíli's. Thorin allowed his brother more freedom, more leniency, and a greater degree of tolerance for his mistakes. Fíli felt he had no right to be surprised when that came back at him in the form of a romantic, reckless young dwarf who was not used to being denied what he wanted.

And, like a current running under all his arguments, Erebor needed allies. As much as his family would fight this, it always came back to that. He adored Bard and his children, but he was under no illusions that his family only allowed his interaction with them to continue to strengthen their ties with the Men of Dale. Kíli's official courting of Tauriel could have been the same in the eyes of others; It would not be the courtship of a dwarf and an elf they pushed for, but a binding of two great kingdoms together in the most sacred of vows.

But old wounds and personal feelings wormed between it all. Now he had a pair of runaways for a brother and sister-in-law, and an elvish traveling companion who's name Fíli's memory refused to supply.

Frustrating did not even begin to describe it. Something to do with leaves, he was sure of it…

“Your mother, she would shelter them? Surely she would bow to the wishes of her King.”

“The day my mother bows to Thorin’s wishes without a thought to her own is the day I eat the dirt under my boots. I’m convinced the Gods themselves tremble in the presence of her temper. She’ll shelter them because a kingdom is nothing to my mother, while family is everything.” It was a lesson she had been determined Fíli learn, Thorin’s wishes be damned.

“She sounds strong-willed.”

“Aye, she-Legolas!”

Fíli’s fingers together of their own accord and he smiled in the face of the elf’s bewildered look.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” Fíli said, already much more satisfied about the entire affair.

*

Legolas was not entirely sure how he arrived at this moment. He knew what his father would say about traveling with a dwarf, but surely needs must. The longer Tauriel remained unaccounted for, the further from forgiving his father would be when she returned. He tracked traces of her to the Lonely Mountain, but every trail inevitably led back on itself or through large cross sections of other paths. He possessed no small skill at tracking, and knew evasion when he encountered it. It burned him to realize he was who Tauriel was hiding from, but he did his best to turn that burning towards finding her rather than dwelling on it.

He followed the Ereborian crown prince, who seemed to have a path in mind as he departed, more out of curiosity than anything. Tauriel had the experience of ages hiding and outmaneuvering him, but maybe a brother would have more luck tracking his kin.

Saving the prince from a errant goblin had been as much political sense as it has been common decency. There would have been scare few reasons the King Under the Mountain would accept for his heir being stabbed while Legolas only stood by and watched. Alerting the other to his presence had not been part of his plan, and he had trailed behind in hopes of dissuading the crown prince from tracking him. But Legolas was curious, and the cool patience of his prey puzzled him.

So he came down from the trees. His questions received with a consideration he did not expect, though Fíli’s answers left him with even more. A large part of Legolas argued for him to turn back and find a fresh trail to follow, but he circled back to Fíli every time, knowing that no better trail existed than the one before him.

So he traveled beside a dwarf and hoped his father would be more distracted with Greenwood’s changing alliances than what his son was doing.

Not wanting to dwell on that tough any longer, Legolas set it aside and amused himself with a game he created after witnessing Erebor’s crown prince in the heat of battle. It had kept him entertained for close to a week before he suspected the dwarf caught on.

Sure enough, Fíli must have felt a pair of eyes on him, and he turned to meet Legolas’ gaze. They stared at each other, sizing one another up like cats ready to pounce over the last mouse.

"You won't find them all," Fili finally said casually.

"I count twenty-three."

"Then I know not to hold faith in your ability to count."

“The ring doesn’t count. Any piece of dwarfish jewelry could be a weapon for how clumsy you all make your ornaments.”

“I’ve always been fond of it. But,” Fíli shrugged easily. “As you say. Did you by chance manage to spy something for dinner?”

With that, the dwarfish prince was off digging through their left over supplies. Legloas was stunned at the abrupt end to the argument. As far as he was aware, dwarves had only been created to cause trouble and to argue, and encountering one that did not appear to prefer that type of interaction was odd, to say the least.

*

"I see the gates of your city."

"Glad to know they're still standing."

"We could reach them sooner, if we traveled through the night."

"Would we? It must be quite a skill, to be able to go without need of rest or food."

"Many stories tell of the legendary stamina of dwarves. Are they simply myths you tell yourselves?"

"Legends and myths will not keep me from falling from my pony when my eyes are too heavy to see the road before me. The city will still be standing in a days time."

"But Tauriel and your brother may not be there.” Legolas resisted the urge to simply pick Fíli up by the scruff of his shirt and carry him. The speed they would gain would surely out way any complaint the prince offered at the rough handling.

"I told you: my brother is a distracted traveler. It would take him a year to make a six month journey simply because he'd be too preoccupied with what is off the road to stay on it,” Fíli explained as he began setting out supplies for a new campsite. Legolas bit back his resentment at having to stop again so soon. 

"Tauriel is not so easily swayed."

"As you say,” was the simple reply, Fíli’s attention mostly on his work. He waved an absent hand out past the river behind them. "The road back east lies that way. Feel free to let your feet find it if you believe I’m wrong.”

Legolas was almost tempted to take the suggestion, for all he would be required to start his hunt fresh. But weeks of traveling with the crown prince had shown him that the other would not care what he did, and so the protest quickly lost its appeal. Instead, he did his best to summon even a scrap of patience. They would arrive at the Blue Mountains within the next day, and once he found Tauriel traveling back to the Greenwood would only be a matter of how much effort he needed to use to drag her with him.

All thoughts of travel flew away from him as a subtle flicker caught the corner of his eye.

“Others approach,” he whispered, hands moving to notch an arrow into the string of his bow. Beside him, Fíli’s countenance changed from one moment to the next as one of his many blades appeared in his hand. They stood in silence for a handful of heartbeats, watching as a trail of movement cut through the tall grass.

"Border patrol from the city," Fíli commented, his movements abrupt as his blade disappeared. "Ho! We approach as friends!"

Quietly, much more quietly than Legolas expected from a race of people defined by their sturdy, rocklike qualities, scout after scout appeared out of the brush. They were not dressed as guards, but rather wore beaten leathers in dark colors to better blend into the shadows and shade of the glen.

One scout in particular was covered with mud, twigs, and other assortments from nose to toes. Unconcerned for his state of cleanliness, he let out a joyous cry and smothered Fíli in a wide hug even as the other swatted at him.

“Little cousin, did you crawl through a swamp?” Fíli complained, making faces at the layer of grim now covering him.

“Just about,” the other grinned.

“My younger cousin, Gimli.” It took Legolas a moment to recognize an introduction. The bit of scrap plastered to Fíli’s side appeared to be no more than a child, with ruddy cheeks and untamed red hair with a mind of its own.

“Gimli, this is Prince Legolas from the Greenwood. He and I are on a scavenger hunt of sorts.”

"You too?" Gimli groaned, eying Legolas from over his cousin's shoulder. "What magic did you find in the Lonely Mountain that made you and Kíli decide elves were fair companions?"

Legolas liked to think he did not have much of a temper. Then again, his father liked to think the same, and Legolas could count five instances in the week before his departure alone that proved evidence to the contrary.

“I feel a better question would be what madness overtook the Greenwood to make elves find dwarfish companions tolerable,” he replied before realizing he may have spoken out of turn. His father always warned him against letting his words get ahead of his thoughts.

Predictably, the little one did not take too kindly to that.

“Aren’t you all half-mad anyway to live in trees?”

“Far better than caves and tunnels, I must say. And at least we practice proper grooming."

“Ahg,” Gimli huffed, shaking his fiery locks out and sending dubris every which way. “Sign of a hard day’s work, this. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

“Another time, I must educate you about spiders.”

“Spiders? I know better than to take lessons from someone who thinks spiders are a hassle.”

Legolas could not help himself--this was the most entertainment he had opportunity to in quite some time. Fíli was a quiet traveling companion and rarely rose to the bait of an argument. But Legolas, used to centuries of quarrels with his father and Tauriel and half the courtiers in the court of the Greenwood, knew of no other way to live.

“Then do tell me, are dwarves experts on spiders?"

A rough cough interrupted them before the little one could respond. Beside him, another guard cleared his throat pointedly and waved a hand down the road. Fíli, growing tired of their argument, had begun ambling down the beaten path and was already half way to town.

“I believe we should catch up,” the guard commented thoughtfully, his face like stone under the glare Gimli shot at him. 

*

Thorin's Halls was much larger and more expansive than Legolas expected it to be. Much of the city was delved out of the rock of the mountain side and stretched upward toward the peak rather than inward. Many of the structures were carved from wood rather than hewn from stone or forged from iron, and most of the embellishments he associated with dwarvish culture were missing. There were no statues of heroes or memorials to respected history anywhere in sight. Looking around, Legolas realized the city was no more than a refuge camp, never meant to be permanent or memorable, simply functional and easy to abandon when the time came. 

They traveled up a series of tiers that progressed higher and higher into the mountain before stopping at a well-constucted dwelling tucked off a quiet side street. On the front steps stood a solitary figure who caused Fíli to break out into the first true smile Legolas had seen on him. 

“Hi Ma,” he said, easily climbing the steps to drop a kiss on her cheek. 

Lady Dís, defiant as the dawn and tougher than iron, did little more than raise an eyebrow at the sight of her eldest tailed by a disgruntled-looking elf. Legolas saw a good deal of her brother in her. They shared the same proud nose, with thick dark hair held back in chunky braids and beads, and eyes that ran a clear blue reminiscent of a rushing river. However, there were laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, which was something he could never picture on the haughty King Under the Mountain. 

"If you're attempting to shock me into gray hair with your choice of companions, darling, know that your brother has already beaten you to that particular challenge."

"So the local gossipmonger tells us," Fíli commented, playfully flicking Gimli's ear as he walked by. “Ma, Prince Legolas-,”

“I remember,” Lady Dís interrupted with a smile, untangling her son’s hair with absentminded fingers in a gesture that seemed so natural that Legolas was struck with a sudden sense of longing. “We met once, many years ago."

Legolas blinked and stretched his memory back. He recalled a gauge memory of a small, quiet shadow behind Prince Thrain lifetimes ago, who barely maintained eye contact with anyone and stuck close to her brothers whenever anyone managed to spot her. She had been a shy, timid thing and Legolas could remember wondering if she was struck with some type of malady for her to be so silent. But the image of that little shadow seemed a complete contradiction to the confident lady before him now, eying him up like a wolf eyed a lamb.

“I remember. You’ve grown strong and sturdy, milady.” Contrary to Galion’s opinion, Legolas did know how to have a civilized conversation. 

Dís smiled at the compliment as well as the tentative offer of relative peace. He recognized Fíli’s mellow eyes staring back at him from beneath her dark eyebrows. 

“Well, come on in,” Dís offered, waving him on. The doorway behind her was not the towering archways Legolas was familiar with from the dwellings in the Greenwood, but it stood even with him nonetheless. Even though it was as unadorned as the rest of the town, dwarfish architecture never called for small or insignificant designs.

"No weapons inside. House rule, my dear," she commented as he started up the steps. “Not after my children learned enough to be dangerous and inventive with kitchen cutlery." 

Fíli was already dropping his veritable armory onto the small rack mounted in the entryway. Legolas took his cue to leave his knives beside them, though he hesitated over his bow. 

"All of them, Fíli!" Dís commanded from down the hall. Legolas watched with barely concealed amusement as the other’s face cast itself in resignation. Grumbling, he sat down on the steps of the landing and began stripping off his weapons. One of the throwing axes from his boot got thrown in Gimli's direction when the little one let slip a giggle from his tightly pressed lips. A medley of weapons followed that, including a flat, slender knife strapped to the inside of his thigh that Legolas had missed in his game, a toe ring with a heavy stud designed to crack bones imbedded in its center, and a razor-thin, near invisible needle unearthed from the thick waves of his hair. 

He left a spot among his collection for Legolas' bow, smiling in encouragement at him as he wrestled Gimli away from his own pair of axes and a few hidden blades around his person. 

“I got it,” Gimli grumbled, trying to bat his cousin away. 

“Of course you do. Right on top, Legolas. No one will touch it,” Fíli explained, easily working around Gimli’s flailing as he stripped him of weapon after weapon. Were all dwarves armed like porcupines? 

Setting his bow down with the greatest of care, Legolas could not stop himself from checking for risk of damage from the items surrounding it and running his fingers over the carvings engraved along its side. Part of it, he knew, was concern for one of his most prized possessions. Another part was the freezing, brittle sensation he was starting to feel building up in his chest. He would rather not examine that too closely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he followed Fíli and a grumbling Gimli inside.

A large, dense table rested in front of the hearth in a welcoming kitchen filled with heat and rich smells. Legolas felt a giant oak among tiny ferns in a place not built for his frame, but before he could say anything Dís was by his side. With the calm expectation of a well prepared parent, she simultaneously hustled him into a low, wide chair that gave him enough room to settle in while depositing the beginnings of a meal on the table and kicking a new log into the embers of the hearth. She moved around her territory like her son moved through a pack of enemies; confident, cheerful, and comfortable. 

Around him, they chatted about people he did not know and events he had no perspective on as Dís glided her way around the room. Names and places flew by in the conversation, but the ones he was waiting to hear, ones belonging to a runaway pair of reckless fools. 

“I hate to interrupt,” he said, inserting himself while Gimli drew breath to continue his tale of a randy miner who’s name Legolas missed. “But if you’d be so kind as to tell me where Tauriel is?”

“Right,” Fíli said, snapping his fingers together in absentminded habit. He did not seem to realize he was doing it. “Gimli mentioned them passing through."

“Aye, they stopped here,” Dís replied causally, as if they had not just trekked across half of Arda after them. "I gave them a good meal, not that Kíli could ever appreciate the difference. And I got to see at least one of my sons bound in matrimony. Moves a mother to tears, it does.” 

“As you can see, my mother is as subtle as my uncle,” Fíli commented in a flat tone, his face the picture of unimpressed exasperation. Legolas did not retain much else, as his mind stumbled to a halt at the word ‘matrimony’.

“They already wed?” 

“Of course, dear. What did you expect them to do?” Dís asked before turning back to Fíli. "I would make an excellent grandmother. All I ask is for my darling children to cooperate on that front.” 

“And I asked for a sister seventy-nine years ago, but we don’t always get the things we want, do we Ma?" 

“Which way did they go?” Legolas asked, desperate to get away from the line of conversation. The brittle feeling in his chest grew to encompass his stomach and throat as well, making the idea of eating the food Dís placed out rather impossible. Combined with their blasé attitude toward the revelation of Tauriel’s marriage and Legolas was completely baffled by the whole matter.

He reeled between shock at the revelation and avoidance of the glass like feeling overtaking him. Instead he focused on his surroundings. Before him was a fare unlike any he was used to: thick, rich sauces drizzled over roasted meat and sharp spices that bit at his nostrils before he tasted a mouthful. Dense bread loaded with melted cheese and potatoes smothered in creams and butter. He would be lucky to finish even a small portion of anything set in front of him. 

Focusing on that allowed him to regain a semblance of serenity and he raised his eyes to see Dís settled in across from him. She paused, eying him much in the same way his father did when he knew Legolas was hiding something. He met her gaze, but it was only held up by a fragile strength within him that felt as if it would shatter at any moment.

“I believe I overheard something to do with gardens and green doors,” she commented after a few heartbeats, letting her eyes fall back to her eldest. Fíli sighed the sigh of the much put upon.

“I know where they’re headed next,” he told Legolas. “The Shine is a three week journey from here."

"You're going after them!" Gimli exclaimed. Legolas tensed: he forgot the little one was there. “You must let me come with you. Please, cousin, don't deprive me of another adventure."

"I am not-,” Fíli started.

"Surely that would be unwise-,” Legolas began at the same time. 

Fíli froze, his eyes slowly widening. His lips upturned in the barest hint of a smile that Legolas had not seen him don before. It did not bode well. 

"Gimli," he said, studying Legolas much like a cat stared at a mouse hole in wait. “Come help me pack.” 

The little one huffed at the order but rose all the same, grabbing at a piece of bread on his way around the table. He shot Legolas a grumpy glare as he passed, as if he were to blame for his less than successful attempt at having an adventure, but said nothing. 

Alone with Dís, Legolas felt left at a loss. He picked at the bread, but could not muster the will to eat it.

“Not to your taste, dear?” she asked gently, her voice pulling him up. Dís was watching him with eyes so like her brother's in coloring yet so opposite in nature. 

“Tis a fine meal.”

“Tis. For a dwarf. I’m afraid my pantry is rather unfit for the fairer folk.”

“My apologies-,” Legolas started but Dís interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

“Nonsense, dear. If what my sons tell me about hobbits is true, you’ll be much better fed at Master Baggin’s table. I’m just a mother, and I dislike having to see people leave my kitchen hungry.” 

Legolas knew the polite response would be to reassure her, to shift the conversation away from the topic. But when he opened his mouth, he instead found himself trailing down another path.

“I’m afraid to say I wouldn’t know much of that.” He instantly felt like kicking his teeth in at the admission, but the words were already past his lips. 

He did not expect any sort of answer past a few sympathetic noises, but Dís ducked down to meet his gaze where it strayed toward the tabletop. She looked concerned, but pity was as far from her face as he was from home. 

“Has she…how do you all say it, followed her kin?”

“She has sailed.”

“Do you miss her? Bah, I sound like my sons, of course you do. I’m nearly two centuries and I still miss my mother.” 

Legolas kept silent, but the brittle feeling returned. His father never spoke of his mother, but Legolas grew up with a faint memory of burnt auburn hair and laughing blue eyes. Of a body that loved to dance and a voice that could not sing but enjoyed trying anyway. Of warm hands and a crooked but beautiful smile. He wanted to find her, to speak with her, to ask her if he had done something that made her leave as quickly as she had. He never worked up the courage to ask his father about her departure--the look on Thraunduil’s face could haunt ghosts to their graves when his mother’s name was so much as uttered in the halls of the Greenwood. 

Did she love him? Would she approve of who he was? Of his decisions? Could he have done anything to keep her at their side? They were questions he asked himself as often as the leaves had fallen when he had been a child, but they never passed his lips. Once he grew tall, he put them in the back of his mind. He knew dwelling on a bundle of useless questions would only cause him distraction. 

However, confronted with such a clear example of everything he pondered made all the questions come running back. And they were not so easily dismissed this time. 

A warm, solid hand rose to pat gently at his cheek, abruptly pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. 

“I’m sure she’s proud of you, lad. My sons could turn the world upside down and deliver the Dark One himself to my doorstep dripping in fire and shadow and I would still be proud of them. And you seem like a much nicer boy than my pair of rascals.” 

Did part of the Durin line secretly read minds? Legolas blinked at her, not sure what to say to that. But Dís did not appear in need of a response, as she rose to attend to the half-picked-at plates across the table. 

*

“You are going after them, aren’t you?” Gimli demanded as he watched his cousin rove his room in search of this and that. On the bed, a pack lay spilled open with used supplies that Fíli sorted through and discarded with sparse consideration. 

“We are,” Fíli replied distractedly. Gimli resisted the urge to kick him, but only just. Fíli always complained about Kíli’s distracted antics, but Gimli found his elder cousin was just as bad at times. 

“I want to go with you.” He tried to be subtle when the quest first had been announced, planting ideas of adventure and rites of passage in his father’s mind. But Thorin had held firm on his age restriction, forcing Gimli to watch as many of his loved ones ventured forth to take a mountain and slay a dragon while he tried not to lose a finger to a whittling knife. 

He would never utter it aloud, but he was becoming increasingly tired of Thorin’s Halls with every passing day. Each morning he awoke knowing what the day would bring, what his meals would consist of, who he would interact with through his duties. And as time went on the dredge of it wore on him more and more. He knew he was taking riskier guard posts with each passing day, and entering his name on the scouting rosters more than was recommended simply for the excitement of the unknown. 

He missed his first opportunity, but by the will of Mahal he refused to miss the second one presented to him. 

“So you’ve made clear,” Fíli commented, kicking at Gimli’s feet to get at a flat chest stored under the bed he was perched on. 

“And yet you will not answer me.”

“You’re not yet seventy.” Gimli bit back a curse. That damn age, what was so special about it? He was more a tried warrior and skilled craftsman than most dwarrows twice his age. 

“Only just shy! You got knocked around during that battle more than I thought if you expect me to sit by and do nothing while you go after Kíli with an elf.”

“I expect you to do your duty, as you always have.” 

“Then take me with you! My duty is at your side! I know I wasn’t old enough for your dumb quest, but don’t leave me behind again!” Not again. Never again. 

Fíli threw the pack at Gimli. It took him a long moment to realize it was one of two. 

“You get to explain this to your mother,” Fíli told him, giving him the erie smile he long ago learned to associate with his cousin's more devious nature. He felt his temper, already sparked by the ridiculous elf downstairs, flare.

“Why didn’t you just say that instead of letting me bleat on like a wounded sheep!"

Fíli shugged casually. “After seventy-eight years with Kíli, I’m not terribly used to silence. It was nice to hear the constant rumble of disjointed ramblings again.” 

Gimli firmly reminded himself it was frowned upon to leave bruises on one’s cousin and crown prince. Nonetheless he grinned as he shouldered the back, his whole being alive with the thrill of freedom. 

*

"Not on your life!"

"But Ma, I'm old enough to!” 

Legolas sincerely doubted that. The dwarfing barely looked old enough to wonder alone through the market, let alone be allowed to trail after them when speed was paramount. Gimli’s mother, Bibon, seemed to agree as well, if her shrieking was anything to go by. He did have to admit the lady did have a grandiose voice, her tones scaling up and down in a wide range of emotions with the skill of an experienced musician.

“And I don’t care, you will not go and that is that!” 

Legolas could not be sure, but he was fairly certain the little one was moments away from stomping his foot and throwing a temper tantrum. As it was his face was nearly as red as his hair and his eyes bright with unbriddled emotion. He was surely a passionate one. 

“Why do you insist on bringing him?” he asked down to Fíli, who was picking at his nails and striving to look anywhere but the feuding before him. He glanced upward, and Legolas was once again on the recieving end of a look that was speculative, kind, indulgent, and unimpressed all at once. 

“Kíli disapproves of...well, quite a few people. He's brilliant, reckless, and absolutely convinced he can solve anything placed before him because he always has in the past. But, much like other members of my family," here Fíli's face took on a look of fond annoyance Legolas remembered him often directing at the grouchy King Under the Mountain. "He has a low tolerance for others who can't keep up with him. He likes Gimli, though. The lad is quick on his feet and smarter than he lets on. If I want to find my brother, I mean to lure him out with folks he'll respond to."

Legolas glanced forward again, where Gimli's mother now had her arms wrapped tightly around the little one, crying loudly as he pat her on the back. 

"And?"

Fíli flashed a grin. "And I'm convinced he'll simply follow us anyway if I ordered him to stay behind. Recklessness is another common Durin trait."

"It's a wonder your line has survived as long as it has," Legolas grumbled. 

"It is, isn't it?"

The sound of loud sobs still filled the air, mixed with outraged declarations of Gimli ripping his poor mother's heart out. What kind of son did he think he was, to abandon her so?

"She seems distressed," Legolas commented, ill at ease by the severe level of emotion before him. 

"Our people may be secretive to the rest of the world, but we've never been skilled at hiding our emotions from each other. And if Gimli plans to go off adventuring you'd better believe Bibon will make sure he's well stocked up on guilt and humility as well as rope and steel."

“…you mean to say she’s acting right now?”

“Not acting. Simply…expounding on an emotional situation.” 

“Is this how you repay your mother for all the suffering and sacrifice I’ve made for you over the years!”

“Ma, I can't stay here for the rest of my life!"

“And how long will this expounding last?” Legolas whispered, watching the exchange with wide eyes. 

“Long enough to make an impression.” 

“Than I assume we’ll be here for weeks.” 

“You might not be wrong."

*

After many more tear filled declarations of utter betrayal, Bibon released them into the world, and Legolas could not be happier. To witness so many intimate moments in ways that he would never experience set something off within him that made his thoughts wonder and prone to disorder. It was a disconcerting feeling to be so rattled after centuries of being grounded in resolute determination. So he turned towards other distractions to keep his mind from it. 

Fíli never played with him, but Gimli seemed more than willing, even if he did not realize it.

“I truly must protest, Prince Fíli,” Legolas called. “I don’t believe this to be a mission for children.” Even days in Gimli’s company had proven the little one hated being spoken of as if he were not present. Legolas fought hard to suppress a smile as growls rumbled behind him. 

“And I don't believe you're an any position to call others children. Our halls are filled with laughter every night by stories of the antics of drunken woodland elves.”

The cheeky thing…

“I believe I've heard similar stories of the rowdiness of dwarves. Is it true you all bath in ale nightly? It certainly seems as such, from my experience. It would explain the smell, if nothing else."

“Would that be the experience you gathered when holding my father and kinsmen hostage? The same kinsmen your family swore allegiances with centuries ago? Elves must be fair-weathered friends, indeed.” 

Despite himself, Legolas was impressed that the tale of a pack of dwarves stumbling through their forest had already reached this far west. It had only been a year, yet nearly every resident of Thorin’s Halls seemed to know the adventures of their king and kin. 

A memory kicked up within him, and he recalled a battered but well-cared for locket and the drawings within it. He blinked as a thought occurred to him, and he let his steps slow. Falling into pace with the little one (who was lurking at the rear in simmering fury while Fíli blissfully ignored them from the front) Legolas leaned down to stare into startled, suspicious eyes. 

Memory overlapped with the present, and Legolas could not help but laugh. It felt good to. 

“What’s so funny, elf?”

“I do apologize, Master Gimli, I do believe we have met before. Had I known coming this far west would reveal a goblin mutant such as yourself, I would’ve ventured forth years ago simply to claim the experience.”

As expected, Legolas was a gleeful witness to the little one’s cheeks turning flame red. Gimli managed to keep ahold of his temper though--something Legolas was rather put out about. He could make most elves of his acquaintance pull their hair out in outraged indignation in mere weeks when he was in fine form, and few offered to trade barbs with him anymore. He held a soft spot in his heart for Tauriel, who managed to keep up with his sprints while putting up with his tongue, letting his words roll off her like water off a duck. 

Gimli did not appear to be able to let go of his words like Tauriel could, however he seemed to be able to keep his wits in the midst of his temper. That was a new challenge. 

“Your insults are as bland as your cooking. Fíli, we can’t let him near the campfire again! Bread and nuts for a meal, I could cry over it if I choose to."

In front of them, Fíli continued to neglect them as he led them down the winding forest path, however he did seem to be enjoying their diatribes in a kind of distant, indulgent way. Legolas dismissed him as a lost cause and turned back to the little one. 

"At least I do not make my family cry over my decisions. Tis shameful behavior for a son to distress his mother so.” Just as the words left his mouth, Legolas realized this was not a path he wanted to go down. He bit at his lip as if to hold back the sentence, but nothing could be done for it now. 

“And I’m sure your own dear parents were the picture of decorum when you left home,” Gimli shot back. 

“My people have no love of unseemly displays. Since my mother sailed for the Undying Lands centuries ago, I very much doubt she is concerned about my wanderings. I did, however, leave my Ada a detailed letter outlining my plan to follow the crown prince in hopes of finding Tauriel."

Rather than continue, Gimli blinked at him in shock. 

"You wrote your father a note? Pray tell, how well did he react to that?"

Realizing he boxed himself into the exact topic he did not wish to discuss, Legolas did his best to hold his head high as heat touched his cheeks. "I couldn’t tell you. I may have left it under one of the wine bottles in his room before I left."

Gimli was blatantly staring at him now.

"You left your father, the Elvenking, lord of long grudges and short tempers, a note telling him you were running away, under a bottle that he may or may not find, sometime in the near future?"

"He was dealing with your King all day. I am confident he would come across it sooner rather than later in those circumstances.”

“Say he didn’t.”

“He did if the only alternative is conversing with your grouchy King.”

A snorting sound interrupted them, and Legolas turned forward in time to see Fíli devolve into laughter. 

*

Legolas pushed his hair, still dripping with river water and sludge, away from his face another time as he suppressed a shutter of disgust at each step of his sodden boots. 

"Are elves part cat, to complain so much about being wet?” Gimli snarked from his spot a few boulders down. Beside him, the rushing river seemed to be laughing at them all with its babbling torrents. The little one had disappeared for some time earlier with a comb and a frown. When he resurfaced, his battle frazzled braids that twisted and unraveled in the heat of battle were tamed into order. 

"I haven’t spoken a word," he replied, letting the day's annoyance build in his voice. Since dawn some days ago, a pack of renegade orcs had been on their trail and uncertainty of their numbers forced the three of them to dodge and hide in unconventional places until an opportunity to dispatch a small group of them presented itself. By Legolas’ count, they only managed to deal with a small scouting party, but it meant there were that many less not chasing them. 

"Maybe not in words," Gimli replied. "But I know a temper tantrum when I see one." 

"I am not--you were the one who decided to fall into the river, dwarf!" 

"Yet it was not my decision for you to join me. Contrary to your belief, I am quite capable of swimming." 

"Had you done more than flap about like a bumbling idiot, perhaps I would not have assumed you needed rescuing.” 

He did not say he had been worried for the dwarf, but the rushing rapids pulled the little one down so quickly. He tried to get to the other as soon as he could, but the distraction cost him a brutal hit to his side by a grinning orc. He sacrificed another shattering blow to his ribs to get in a better position to take the orc’s head off and turned back just in time to see a bobbing redheaded bush break the surface. 

Again, the distraction cost him. 

"Of course. Because neither of us saw you being tossed in by that orc who got the better of you. Do you always leave your left side so exposed?” Gimli asked, his face an open book of cheer and cheek. 

Legolas growled, which only caused Gimli to laugh at him. 

"Peace, graceless cat. We’ll get you dry soon."

*

The orc pack tailed them for days, his companions catching small snip bits of sleep and food and Legolas going without completely. He came to the conclusion that they had stumbled across the paths of a handful of packs joined to hunt them down. Whenever they engaged with the latest scouting party, he realized they spent more time arguing amongst themselves than anything. It was clear there were some divisions within their enemy that they may be able to use to their advantage. 

Now, with night rolling in and the moon high, Legolas spied an arguing group of orcs from his perch among the trees. Doing a quick headcount, he was pleased to see that this was no scouting party or rear guard—this was the nest. They were a fair distance away from the hasty hiding place Fíli found for them, and the darkness made their movements more difficult to track. But Legolas was used to the dank, shadow-ridden paths of his homeland, and his eyes were able to adjust after a few breaths.

A quick tally told Legolas a frontal assault would be useless. There were far too many and if he was beginning to feel the effects of running with little rest and food, his companions would be nearly crippled by it. As it was, Gimli and Fíli were both resting a good distance away, taking advantage of the stillness. If Legolas leaned back slightly, he could make out their figures as well as the surrounding area with ease. The constant traveling was hard on them both, for all they made no mention of it. Stubborn dwarves. 

Better to stay to the shadows. Legolas returned to staring out at their enemy while his plans began to grow. 

His father taught him to take advantage of an enemy’s weakness first, and to only reveal his aggression when they were vulnerable. The first step was to exploit an obvious flaw in their defense. 

"This is lunacy," Gimli hissed when Legolas outlined his plans. "You can't expect-,"

"What do you need us to do?" Fíli interrupted, cutting off any chance of an argument between them. 

Legolas held back on the instinct to tell them to stay out of his way. The elves under his command would understand the order for what it was; he could only succeed in his insanity if he knew no one else would be at risk. But he felt these two would only see it as a dismissal. 

"Stay to the shadows and pick off the parameter guards if you can. Make sure you’re not seen, and take no risks. This will only work if they don’t believe we're here."

"Can't they smell us already?" Gimli demanded, though he kept his voice pitched low.

"It's hard to smell anything over the odor of burnt goat," Fíli commented, wrinkling his nose. "And they've got so much of the stuff its a wonder they smell the swamp behind them."

"Shadows, and stay down," Legolas repeated firmly, refusing to let either of them stray away from the point. 

Gimli looked downright miserable at his orders but Fíli gave him no time to dispute them, nodding once to Legolas and hustling his cousin off into the grim darkness. Turning back to the distant campfires, Legolas stilled his pounding heart and wished once again that Tauriel had made different decisions, if nothing else because she was a better stealth warrior than he was. 

He stayed low and moved slowly, breaching the edges of the orc's rough camp with a silence born of hunting beasts with eight eyes and thrived on the tiniest of vibrations. He did not linger, quick to find his goal and depart. A small part of him nagged at his plan, pointing out the dark race's proficiency for sharp, hacking blades and claws, but Legolas bore witness to the occasional bow amongst their ranks before. One had to be here now. 

He moved silently from pack to abandoned pack, fingers tracing their contents for anything that felt familiar to him. When they struck something that felt discerningly like cat gut, Legolas shuttered and rejoiced in equal measure. 

Drawing the makeshift bow and quiver to his chest, he darted as swiftly as he could for the edge of camp, pausing only to duck behind a pile of fur carcasses to avoid detection from a wondering orc. 

Moments later, he heard a fell sound and a heavy grunt. The orc let out a cursing, rolling roar that was cut off by the unmistakable sound of an axe through bone. Legolas could not contain his wince. Was this what they thought he meant when he told them to stay out of sight? In his mind's eye, he could see Gimli, axe in hand and a grin on his lips, taking out a wayward orc's knees before the beast knew what hit him. The little one must surely enjoy himself...

He held as still as stone for a long breath, waiting for any sign of retaliation or alarm, but the camp remained mellow save for the sounds of arguing orcs. Making for the treeline, Legolas spared a glance for the shadows and just made out a flash of red hair on his flank. The young dwarf never listened. 

Setting thoughts of cheeky little dwarves aside, Legolas found a low position behind a copse of trees and took a moment to familiarize himself with his stolen weapon. It was much heavier than any bow in Greenwood, and when he tested the pull of the string the draw weight felt over twice that of his own bow. It was meant for a creature much larger than himself. The arrows were heavy, metal-bedecked things that made Legolas' hands itch as he placed one on the arrow rest. Raising it, he noticed that the upper limb was horribly off balance, making him wonder how any orc managed to be on target. He spared a brief, foolish second to wish for the time to practice his next shot before dismissing it and letting the arrow fly. 

It struck a large orc in the collarbone, forcing a pained grunt out of him as he flew to the ground. It was not a killing blow, but Legolas had no time to mourn that. He rushed around the edges of the camp, sparing only the barest of thoughts for dwarves tucked in the shadows before taking sloppy aim and letting loose again. This time the arrow found its mark, and his second target let out a shrill cry as life left him. 

By now the camp was in an uproar, and Legolas paused with an arrow resting across the riser while he waited for someone to find the body. He watched as one orc pulled the arrow out of his fallen comrade and inspect the fletching. In the next moment, the brute turned on his fellows, roaring something in a language that left Legolas' skin crawling. 

He brought down two more orcs with their own weapon, but his plan was already in full swing. Many orcs in the camp rushed for their own weapons, and were facing off against each other with menacing growls. There did seem to be one that, by virtue of his size and ferocity, was keeping the peace simply by standing in the center of the madness and screaming at the rest of them, but Legolas addressed it with a barbed arrow to his eye. He was starting to get the hang of the bow. 

He stayed back as the orc camp disintegrated into chaos, each member turning on the others and the smell of slaughter filling the air. The soft fall of booted feet and the sound of breathing alerted him to the approach of his companions, and he shuffled aside to allow them space. 

"What'do we do next?" Gimli asked, excitement clear on his face. Fíli rolled his eyes and boxed his ear before Legolas got the chance to.

"We wait," he ordered, settling in as another orc fell. "And we watch."

Gimli muttered annoyed words under his breath but Legolas simply pulled the little one down to sit next to him. He did not take his eyes off the camp. He was sure the orcs would not realize their presence, however it would be foolishness to turn his back on them now. He watched as another was ripped apart by two of his fellows with a jaundiced eye as he wondered (not for the first time) if he was beginning to adapt his father's casual disdain for bloody brawls. It seemed so unnecessary. 

In any case, the carnage did not last for long. Soon only a small pack of orcs stood tall amongst the bodies of their fallen. They spoke to each other, but Legolas gave them no time to regroup. Darting forward on tense muscles, he raised his own familiar, trusted bow and let loose a quick flurry that put most of them down before they realized there was an elf upon them. 

One caught on enough to smell him out, but he dispatched it with a clean slice across the creature's abdomen from his knife. The last one was fell by a familiar throwing axe and suddenly the glen was silent. 

Legolas took a moment to savor that silence, eyes and ears open for any sign of an enemy he missed. But there was none, only black blood and soot-stained armor for yards. The orc with the throwing axe embedded in his skull was only a short jump away from him, so he thought nothing of picking up the weapon as he collected his arrows. He left the orcish ones inside the bodies, preferring not to touch the tarnished steel any more than necessary. 

Fíli had gotten a good throw in since both dwarves were still at the very edge of the glen when Legolas turned back. He tossed the axe to the crown prince with a quick nod of thanks. Tucking it away, Fíli returned the gesture and nudged at Gimli, who Legolas noticed was staring at him with a look that bordered on devout.

"Something for you, little one?" he asked, but even the deliberate use of a hated nickname did not chase the look from Gimli's face. 

"That was..." Gimli seemed at a loss for words, which was a first in Legolas' experience. 

"Don't be impressed by that," Fíli commanded, his tone every inch an exasperated caretaker. Legolas believed the crown prince and Galion would get along swimmingly.

"Why not!" Gimli exclaimed, staring at Legolas with something akin to awe. "It was brilliant." Legolas did not blush. There was no reason he should desire the admiration of such a young, foolish dwarf. But that did not seem to stop the rise of heat from his face or the sudden bashfulness he felt. 

"Because copying it would be lunacy, cousin," the older dwarf replied as he tucked away his axe into the lining of his boot. Gimli waved him off with an impatient wave of his hand, eyes alight with fiery excitement as he grinned at Legolas. 

“Tell me more about giant spiders. You mentioned them once, and now I believe it may not have been entirely in jest."

*

Orc carcasses, as they discovered, burned quite easily. Legolas protested the barbarousness of it at first until Fíli calmly pointed out that committing them to the earth would likely poison all the living greenery around them and leaving them to rot in the sun was more barbarous by far. Better their bodies be disintegrated than allowed to do damage even in death. 

So they set to work burning everything, leaving only a few beheaded warnings dangling from the trees and posts as the dawn broke through the morning sky. Legolas could not help but notice the exuberance Gimli showed earlier was more subdued as he helped. He suspected this to be the little one’s first ambush, and as such he needed to come to terms with the reality of it. There was glory and excitement as battle lust ran through veins, but in the dull aftermath all that could be seen was blood and destruction. His father was brutally blunt with Legolas when he learned this lesson, but he did not think such a tactic would work on Gimli. So he decided to stay away and monitored him from a distance. 

He told himself he was watching for signs of distress or regret, both common among elves in the aftermath of a skirmish, but the sixth time Legolas caught himself studying Gimli's wild hair, he had to admit he was intrigued by other things. At first he thought it was the braids, so similar to the thick, loose ones that ran through Fíli's molten waves yet distinct in their own patterns. It was clear there was a code to them that his own race did not share. But after further studying he began to notice fine strands of deeper red locks to match the color of an autumn maple, and yellow strands reminiscent of tree sap twined through them as well. 

He stopped short of wondering what they felt like. Gimli was only just grown, he told himself, and still had the shine of the young and youthful about him. There was no need for him to be thinking about the way his hair had a mind of its own, or the fact that his eyes were near as sharp as any elf’s of Legolas’ acquaintance. He was quick to an easy laugh seemed to care deeply when he was invested. And Legolas was always one to appreciate a quick-witted tongue. He knew himself well enough to understand interest when it struck him.

But for all those traits, Legolas fought against the impulse to delve further into his affection. There was only so much madness the world was willing to stand, he believed. Tauriel and her wayward heart had pushed it as far as it would allow, and that left no room for him. Better to stomp out the spark of interest than allow it to grow further and risk it taking root to something stronger. 

…But would it be so bad if he did? 

His thoughts were mercifully cut off before they went any further by a quick tap of rough fingers against his knees. 

"Bet you can't hit that orc's head from here.”

Legolas blinked down at Gimli, who’s insolent grin returned from the depths of slumber to taunt him. Casting his eye out, he quickly saw the target Gimli was inquiring about, a head they had tied by its dreadlocked hair to a rotted post, meant to act as a warning or a beacon to whomever found it, depending on their inclination. 

"If you feel the need to doubt my skills, at least try to pick a more challenging target. It's insulting to think you believe me incapable of missing a stationary target a mere hundred paces away. I won't indulge you,” Legolas dismissed out of hand, taking shelter in the old game. There was no need for his thoughts to travel so rudely. Once Tauriel was found this and journey concluded, it was unlikely that he would ever see Gimli again, let alone entertain other thoughts. 

"I dare you," Gimli challenged, the spark in his eye a delicious taunt. 

A moment of stony silence passed and in the next Legolas was in fluid motion, pulling back his shoulder, straightening his spine, and releasing an arrow. Before them, the orc's head spun wildly by the roots of its hair.

"I believe that settles that," he commanded, refastening his bow.

And it did--for about half a day. 

"I bet you can't hit that barn door." 

*

They arrived at the Shire a week later with little delay, Gimli was thankful to see. Adventures were fine and dandy, but good meals and a soft bed also had their benefits. A small sliver of his mind did bemoan the fading opportunities to taunt his pointy-eared companion now that they were back in civilized company, but he did his best to pay it no attention. 

The Shire was truly beautiful, if too quiet by half. Giggling had been following them since they crossed over a tiny bridge into Hobbiton, but Gimli was not quite sure how to deal with that. Thankfully Fíli (looking far more comfortable with the gaggle of tiny children on their tail than he ever seemed to with his elders) simply stopped to speak with them for a bit, smiling in a way Gimli rarely saw on their journey. Erebor had definitely changed his cousin, and he could only imagine what Kíli must be like now. 

Legolas, who had been pensive ever since they had left the burning orcs some ways back, shifted impatiently and Gimli nudged him for it. 

“May as well dig in, cat,” he suggested, already patting his tunic pockets in search of his father’s pipe. “Fíli can talk with ankle biters ’til Arda Remade for all the patience he has.” 

After a few more moments of rummaging, he managed to retrieve the pipe with minimum fuss. His mother, for all her screeching and disavowing, had shoved it into his hand on his way out of Thorin’s Halls with a hard look, telling them that his poor ol’ da had left this behind when he had left and dearie he just wouldn’t be the same without something to keep his fingers busy and since Gimli was heading that way anyway…

And if Gimli made use of it during his own journey, well, percentages off the top were not an uncommon idea for a dwarrow like his father to understand. 

“Is this necessary?” Legolas asked him, even as he took the offered advice and settled down on a tree stump beside him. His tone was not one of impertinence or derision, only curiosity. 

“Probably not,” Gimli replied. “But asking Fíli not to care about the young ’s like asking the sun not to shine. He used to watch the whole lot of us back when we couldn’t so much as lift an axe to our eyes. All our parents couldn't find two breaths to take, what with all the moving and scrounging, so'd they'd drop us all together and tell the older ones to mind us.” And Fíli had been the only one any good at it. 

Sure enough, his cousin was already crouched in the dirt as he spoke animatedly with the local welcoming committee, all of whom looked barely old enough to be left alone. Gimli took the time to look at them. He had never really seen a hobbit before, even if tales of one in particular had run like wildfire through Thorin’s Halls. They did not seem so different from dwarfish children in Gimli’s experience, if a little more delicate. He was examining their feet when one revealed an unexpected gem. 

“And than the pretty elf lady showed us how to find wild flowers at night!” she reported to Fíli, who nodded solemnly. 

“And did she have a silly little dwarf fellow with her?” he asked, even as Gimli came to swift attention. Beside him, he could feel Legolas do the same. 

“Aye,” the child confirmed, her copper curls bouncing. “Up in Bag End, they were!” 

Gimli was sure that, had Legolas known which way Bag End was, he would have been sprinting towards it with all due haste. But here he was, stuck like a fly on molasses without a direction to go but desperately wanting to move. Gimli would have felt bad for him but as it was he could barely contain the laughter in his throat. 

All the while Fíli nodded with great aplomb and thanked each of the children for their service, even producing a few honey treats from somewhere on his person. Gimli suspected his cousin carried those by force of habit, because he remembered being bribed with them often as a child himself. 

“Bad End?” Legolas demanded, eyes intent as Fíli turned back to them. Fíli shot him in exasperated look. 

“If I tell you, you’ll just run ahead of us and startle poor Bilbo, who I believe has had enough startling to last him a lifetime. Since you are no where near the ferocity of a dragon he will proceed to lay you out with what Balin affectionately calls his letter opener. I would prefer not to have to explain to The Elvenking how his precious son was gutted by a battle shocked hobbit simply because he was too impatient to wait until he was introduced properly.” His reasoning was imparted with a tone that was reminiscent of the one he had been using to speak to the hobbit children. Gimli wondered (not for the first time) if his cousin saw the world as large collection of children Fíli was burdened with minding. 

Bad End turned out to be a gentle hill with plenty of colorful doors and peaceful gardens. Lady Dís' words now made more sense as Gimli took it all in. How was it possible that something so quaint lived in the same world as dragons and orcs?

“All the way up,” Fíli ordered, and Gimli made sure to snag Legolas’ belt from behind before the silly elf went dashing on ahead. Legolas turned blazing eyes on him, but he merely grinned in response and dug his heels in. He weighed the other down until they came to a small trail that led up to a pleasant green door and a disgruntled looking hobbit whom he could only assume was Bilbo Baggins. 

“Bilbo!” Fíli called as they approached. "It's good-,"

"Has he sent you?" Bilbo demanded, waving a fold of paper under Fíli's nose as they past through his gate. Fíli blinked owlishly at him. 

"Your uncle," Bilbo pronounced the words like they were an oath from Valinor. "Keeps sending me these, because apparently His Royal Haughtiness now needs my opinion on everything from what color the bunting should be to how to make a decent scone. And the Ravens that keep bringing them are a particularly grumpy breed, let me tell you." 

Fíli opened his mouth to interrupt, but Bilbo was having none of it, even as he waved them passed the threshold of his hobbit hole and into the dining room. Legolas shuffled his feet for a moment too long on the porch so Gimli, ever the practical soul, planted a hand on his lower back and shoved. The elf went stumbling inside and the glare he shot behind him was magnificent, but he could say nothing as Bilbo continued to vent. Gimli grinned deviously in response. 

"As if their journey is somehow my fault,” Bilbo continued as he lead them inward. His home was pleasant, warm with the smell of cookery and candles, and mementos scattered across that gave Gimli the impression that this was not just a house, but also a home. "Oh well, at least they're better house guests than my dratted relatives. And I suppose I shouldn't complain, what with him having his own troublesome house guest. He keeps complaining that King Thranduil won't stop wallowing around Erebor. Something about his son missing--,"

Gimli, rather in awe of the continuous stream of words from such a little creature, silently pointed to a blushing Legolas. 

"Oh, that's you, is it?" Bilbo asked, rounding on the elf without missing a beat. Gimli's back straightened at the disapproving parental tone. "I do hope you're proud of yourself, young man. Your father is in fits over your little stunt!"

Gimli thought about abandoning the stubborn elf to his apparent fate, but one glance upward stopped him. Legolas was hunched in on himself, looking for all of Arda like a prisoner about to be sentenced. Gimli swallowed his laughter and instead laid a comforting hand on the elf’s thigh, smiling pleasantly at the startled look shot his way. It was never fun getting handed your concious, in Gimli's opinion. But he learned it was a little easier if there was support from behind when facing the wrath up front.

“Absolutely out of his mind with worry, if Balin’s letters are to be believed,” Bilbo continued as he began rummaging around his kitchen. “Or constantly drunk and demeaning, if you’d rather believe Thorin. Biscuit?”

The plate was placed in front of them all before Gimli could say a word yay or nay. Picking one up, he shoved it into Legolas’ hand for lack of any other place to put it. The elf looked startled by the gesture, staring down at the biscuit with a blank expression. 

"Sugar flavored. Frodo just adores this recipe, so I keep it on hand. Against my better judgement, I must say. I fear my waist coats may never fit right again.”

Leaving Legolas to his odd stare, Gimli tried a biscuit of his own. They were rather tasty. Taking another, he nudged the elf again.

“If you don’t finish that, I’m gonna,” he threatened quietly under the stream of Bilbo’s words. Legolas’ reaction seemed purely reflexive as he bit off a piece, chowing with absentminded distraction. 

“Fordo?” Fíli asked, effectively distracting the hurricane known as Bilbo. Gimli suspected he already knew the answer to that question, since his eyes had spied out the barrage of wooden toys and jigsaw puzzles across the floor before the fireplace in the sitting room. 

“Oh, you haven’t met Frodo, have you?” Like any parent suddenly asked about their child, his entire attention was diverted away from Legolas to more important matters. “My nephew. Well, not exactly, but it does tend to simplify things if we leave it at that. Poor child, lost both of his parents to a boating accident. But I’ve been blessed, make no mistake about it.”

“Truly,” Fíli replied, sounding like he meant it. 

“We’re still getting used to each other, but I think we’ll make a fantastic go of it all. He’s off playing with the Gamgee lad right now. I swear, he has more sociableness in him now than I ever did in all my life. Mind you, a little solitude is good for the soul."

Fíli looked riveted, though Gimli could not tell if it was true interest or the perfected mask of one who had sat through his share of endless drones. 

“We came seeking friends," he pipped in quickly, more to draw Bilbo's attention than anything else. And attention he did indeed draw, as he was suddenly pinned by a pair of sad blue-green eyes that shone wise, haunted, all-knowing, and innocent all at once. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

“Kíli and Tauriel eloped," Fíli explained, and Gimli could not help but notice that one of the toys littering the floor had ended up in his hands as he absentmindedly turned it over and over. 

"Did they? That’s lovely, isn't it? Young love is such-"

"They came through here, didn't they?"

"In my defense," Bilbo replied without turning a hair. "If anyone thought I’d be the one to stop a pair of star-crossed lovers from committing themselves to each other, they were sorely mistaken." 

*

The Shine was beautiful, of that Legolas had no quarrel with. He was sure Tauriel adored her time here. The sloping hills and twisting trees made his heart sing, and the constant, lulling flow of the nearby river was better than a solstice song. There was an ancient peace in this place. In time could help bring about the type of wisdom only found in legends. 

Legolas wished he could appreciate it more. But his skin felt tight and brittle, and he felt driven by a perpetual need to move. While his feet moved along well trotted paths, his mind traveled leagues away. He felt disconnected, and even though he knew Gimli was following him from some yards away while he roamed Hobbiton, he could not bring himself to acknowledge the little one. 

He expected his father to be unhappy with his decision and to rage against his choice to hunt for Tauriel on his own without permission. He had not, however, expected his father to dig himself further into the depression that had begun lingering around him in heavier and heavier clouds as of late. Guilt bit hard at him at that, especially considering how rarely his father smiled in the last few centuries. And he must truly be upset to reveal his concern to the King Under the Mountain. Though as he thought about it, the idea of Thranduil subjecting foreign kings to both his charms and his terrors seemed accurate. His father was never altogether concerned about elvish stoicism in the face of other races when raging emotions got him better responses. 

Or it could be part of an elaborate game of lies and bargains his father was playing with the newly refortified cities that sprouted like weeds along their borders. It would not surprise him in the slightest. 

Legolas was surprised an agent of the Greenwood had not been sent out after him. Above all else, that told him his father trusted his judgment for all he appeared enraged and concerned. However with their arrival at the Shire, he was beginning to question his own judgement. He chased after Tauriel for months to stop her from making a mistake she had already made. She always stretched just out range of Legolas’ gaze, and no amount of running brought her any closer. 

So now, walking the paths of Hobbiton, he thought of his next move. He could feel eyes following him, and he suspected that would not cease any time soon if his experience with Frodo was anything to go by. Bilbo was intent on feeding them with all due speed once they had arrived, and Legloas had been too overwhelmed to protest until Bilbo’s front door opened again. A young child (a hair younger than the welcoming committee that had tailed them from the forest) with blue-black curls, wide eyes, and typical hobbitish feet came running into the kitchen, only to stop in awed amazement at the sight of his uncle’s guests. 

The staring continued for some time after that, and Legloas had been baffled on how to deal with it. Bilbo scolded the young hobbit for gawking, but that did not seem to deter him. Even Fíli could only draw a few words from him before the staring recommenced. He left to wonder simply to get away from it and to sort out what he planned to do next. 

And the people he had met…how was it possible for so many folk with not a drop of the Children of Ilúvatar within them to make such an impression on him? The Lady Dis, so very different from the nervous rabbit more comfortable in the shadow of her family he remembered her. For as warm as she acted, Legolas saw an iron will resting just below the soft fur of her smile. Her mellow and thoughtful son, who gave the impression of thinking of Legolas as nothing more than an intelligent elfing with access to sharp weaponry and a pension for disturbance. A hobbit who seemed to want to alternately feed and scold him in equal measure. Bilbo appeared to think the best way to avoid questions he wished not to answer was to talk nonstop; more than a few times he sidestepped his inquires about Tauriel with a wave of his hand and a cheerful description of the vegetables in his garden. Despite their obtuseness, Legolas felt a growing fondness he did not recognize in himself for each of them. 

And Gimli…Legolas bit back a groan. He tried to put some distance between the two of them after his realization of the affection for him was becoming something more, but the little one was blindingly ignoring that distance. The footsteps behind him echoed in his ears as a constant reminder to that. 

Maybe it would be better to go home. His mission was amounting to nothing, and he would only doom himself further staying here...

The mud made a loud, splattering sound as it slammed into his shoulder blade, ripping him away from his thoughts. Surprise (and dismay at being surprised) sat unpleasantly on his tongue, and he whirled to focus on his attacker. He only found a grinning Gimli some paces away, his hands muddy and his face mischievous. Beside them, the river rushed gently past and cackled at his predicament. 

“Been calling your name for the last five minutes but you didn’t want to hear me,” Gimli told him, eyes dancing. 

“So you thought mud was an appropriate way to get my attention.”

“”s not my fault you didn’t see that coming, what with your honed elvish senses and all.” 

Legolas blinked slowly, all morbid thoughts disappearing in a haze of desired revenge. 

“I will give you a few moments to run."

“Don’t think I will,” Gimli replied with a cheeky grin. 

“That will just make this easier than,” Legolas replied, reaching for his own handful of silty mud. 

Laughing, Gimli dashed for the shallow bed of the river, moving with remarkable speed as he ran and jumped away from Legolas’ attacks. Bounding down a small bed of boulders embedded in the water, he managed to get Gimli square in the chest with his own handful. This only caused him to have to quickly reverse direction as more mud came flying his way. His height gave him the advantage, and he skipped across the gentle rapids to land on the far bank well out of reach. 

“You think a pesky river’ll stop me?” Gimli called out across the stream. 

“I think it will cause you more challenge than you would prefer.” 

Gimli laughed at that, eyes in motion as he surveyed the river. Legolas smiled at him, watching the track of his gaze as he took in the angles and trajections. He could have easily moved to dodge any attack that came, but he was curious to see if Gimli could make it. 

He could not help the widening of his smile as Gimli took a few steps back, grinned at him, and launched his handful of mud across the river. Legolas’ shoulder and sleeve took the worst of the hit and he shuttered at the feel of it seeping into his clothes, but Gimli was laughing in triumph. It seemed rather worth it.

“No river may defeat me! Bring forth the Great River, I shall conquer it as well!” he hollered as Legolas gracefully skipped across the river rocks, only to sputter as he was gifted with a face full of mud. 

“Letting your guard down,” Legolas tutted. “Not what I expected from a mighty river warrior.”

The growl he got in return was a magnificent thing: it started at Gimli’s knees before moving up his torso and chest, gaining power until it culminated in his throat and emitted from his mouth in an orchestra of menace and warning. Legolas let out a light, silvery laugh to counter it and run from the next attack. 

By the time honor was satisfied on all sides, they were both covered in mud and gasping for breath. With a final triumphant cry, Legolas shoved a particularly slimy fistful of sludge into Gimli’s hair before collapsing on the riverbank. The gentle rush of water worked to clean away the worst of their fight, but he was in no hurry to help it. 

“Knew you had a streak of playfulness in you somewhere,” Gimli commented, settling down next to him. 

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about. I am the very model of decorum. Just ask my father.” 

“Bah,” Gimli muttered dismissively. "If you think you’re hiding that destructive nature I’ve seen so much of over the last three weeks from your Da, you’d best think again. Your kin know you better then you know yourself. I speak from experience.”

“Mayhap yours do.”

“Not close, you and yours?”

“It’s not that,” Legolas struggled. He had no idea why he was telling Gimli his thoughts, but something about this all eased the huge ball of tension within himself. He was covered in mud and waist deep in silt and water, yet he felt more comfortable than he had in months. “We are simply more reserved in our affection. Especially as we get older.”

“Shame. I can’t imagine keeping secrets from my kin.”

“Aye,” Legolas agreed, his voice trailing off as his thoughts gave him a firm kick. 

An idea, no more than a small nugget of half a sentence, blossomed before him. Once given attention, it began rolling, gaining momentum and conviction with each passing moment. Fíli had told him, as clear as day as they watched Gimli and his mother...Slowly sitting up in the riverbed, Legolas let himself marvel for a heartbeat as everything fell into place. 

“Legolas?”

“I must see to something.” He was out of the river in mere moments, letting his long strides carry him back towards the hobbit’s house even as Gimli’s call followed him. 

*

Legolas found Fíli almost immediately, seated on a small bench at the edge of Bilbo's garden with pipe in hand and peace on his face. Young Frodo was seated beside him, asking question after question about everything from his clothes to his weapons to Erebor. Fíli was answering each with a patience Legolas did not feel. His thoughts were too clouded to concentrate anything but anger. 

He stepped into the crown prince's space, determination and indignation flooding him in equal measure.

“We must speak,” he ordered, using the tone he often employed on his father’s courtiers to demand instant compliance. Fíli simply gave him a look of blank inquisition, before nodding slightly. 

“Do you mind if I have a word with Mr. Legolas,” he asked Frodo, causing the young hobbit to squint up at him.

“He seems grumpy.”

“Doesn’t he?” Fíli agreed. “Maybe he needs more biscuits. Would you go get some for us?” 

Frodo nodded solemnly, as if bestowed with a mission of all importance as he slid off the bench. 

Fíli waited until Fordo was well inside and the green door was closed before turning back to Legolas.

“Yes?"

"You know where they are." It was not a question. Fíli stared up at him with the same mellow defiance he portrayed time and time again on their journey. 

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Your Highness." 

"Do not play games with me, dwarf. You know where they are," Legolas snapped, furious that he had not realized this all sooner. "You have always known, and yet you led me around like a dog--,"

"Hush," Fíli demanded lightly, though he now had his full attention on Legolas. "I told you there was no need to track me, but you insisted. You could've turned back at any time."

"You have been stalling, letting them get as far away as possible."

"And you suspect shadows at every turn," Fíli tapped the pot of his pipe out against his boot. Legolas was startled at how calm the dwarf was opposed to how outraged he felt. "I looked for my brother and his wayward fiancée in every place I could possibly imagine they'd go. And when I stand before my uncle and claim exactly that, there'll be no lie on my tongue. I can hardly be blamed for not guessing the route they took correctly, or being too late to catch them."

“So you would allow them to shun all responsibility and good sense in pursuit of a foolish lust?” 

“If you mistake what they have for lust than I very much suggest you strengthen your education on the subject. They've defied their families and two powerful nations for each other. Very little in this world will ever hope to compare to what they feel for each other. 

“So you say,” Legolas bit back scornfully. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, and that there was sense in the dwarf prince’s words. But his anger (both at the charade of the journey and at his own foolishness) would not let him admit to it. “Yet this is not a ballad or a poem to make the heart flutter and the mind escape. They cannot simply outrun their own lives."

“Why do you disapprove so much of someone you love finding happiness?” Fíli asked, tilting his head back to star up at him. 

“They have duties to their people that they are required to fulfill. Even above their own desires.” 

“And is that what your argument would consist of had we found them? That duty and responsibly are suppose to outweigh love and fulfillment?” 

“It was the case for my father. He made that choice for the betterment of his people--,”

“And my uncle choose similarly. Don’t they make a miserable pair?” For the first time in their acquaintance, Fíli’s eyes were as hard as diamond, his face a mix of rigid determination. “If leading my nation and yours around by the nose for a few months saves Kíli from the fate of Thranduil and Thorin, I’d happily do it ten times over. Honor and glory are all well and just, but they won’t make him smile and laugh like Tauriel does.”

“Enough.” Legolas was finished with this conversation. “Where are they heading next?”

Fíli shrugged. “I couldn't say for certain.”

Legolas growled, taking the techniques he heard earlier from Gimli into account. Fíli raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Truly. They could've turned back east to Erebor, or to Rivendale like you once suggested. I’m given to understand that Tauriel has distant family in Lothlórien they could visit, if they choose to. Or our cousin Dáin may even welcome them in the Iron Hills, because if Thorin and my mother begin a feud with each other over this, Dáin will surely side with Ma. He’s learned from past experiences. They could forsake both our races and head for Rohan or Gondor. They could follow the river down to the ocean—Kíli's always wanted to see the ocean.” 

“They would not go to the ocean.” Legolas was firm in his belief that Tauriel would not yet desire to feel the pull of the sea and the Valar. She had no reason to sail now. But as Fíli laid out each theory, Legolas felt his anger run down to a simmer. The logic of his words prevailed, even if he wished it otherwise. Without an understanding of their goals, predicting their next move would be nearly impossible. 

“So what will you do?” He asked, his tone quiet. His anger was beginning to lead to exhaustion, and he felt it down to his bones. Fíli eyed him with an unreadable expression for a moment. 

“Returning to Erebor would be prudent. I've projects I left in furlough to undertake this. Or maybe toward the ocean myself. That would be my guess, if I had to choose what path they took. Maybe I’ll send Gimli that way while I head east. I’m sure my little cousin would love the adventure.” Fíli mentioned, effectively stopping Legolas in his tracks. 

“You can not!” he exclaimed, anger leaping up in him again for entirely different reasons, banishing his aches back to the abyss. “He is a child! Sending him alone would be disastrous.”

“He’s only a handful of years younger than Kíli,” Fíli replied gently, stopping Legolas in his tracks. “I think the adventure would do him good. Temper him. He’s a smart lad.”

“You should not have brought him!” Legolas did not understand why, but protective emotions where building up in his chest and throat. The idea of the little one all alone, cheerful and oblivious to the dangers an unguarded road presented, sent horror through his veins. “Not when you did not even intend to find Tauriel or your brother!” 

“I will admit, my main reason for bringing him along was to distract you,” Fíli admitted shamelessly, causing Legolas to snarl at him. He rolled his eyes in response. “Protest all you like, you enjoyed his company. But his own arguments for coming along bore merit as well. He has outgrown Thorin’s Halls, and he runs for challenges many of our race would shy away from."

“It is not an adventure you send him on, but a death trap waiting to be sprung,” Legolas argued, his thoughts filled with what could happen to a lone dwarf on the road with no true battle experience. He would be dead within a week. 

“Do you have so little faith in the safety of the roads to the south?” Fíli asked innocently. 

“I do not trust a young and reckless fool not to get himself killed by blind stupidity!” Legolas exclaimed, finally at wit’s end with the entire conversation. Throwing his hands up, he stormed away from Bag End, in far to much of a tizzy to see Fíli roll his eyes and settle back into the bench. 

*

“You enjoyed that.”

The view from Bilbo’s front lawn was inspiring, and with a sigh Fíli almost resented having to tear his gaze away to glance behind him. Bilbo stood at the top of his stone stairs, dirt stained gloves tucked in his pocket and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Fíli suspected he heard their entire row from where he was gardening just around the bend of the fence. 

“I will admit I did.” There was no reason to deny it. He did feel a slight bit of shame though; he had been preparing for that conversation for months. He knew Legolas would eventually put together why he was so insistent on dragging his feet from town to town. But Legolas had been running off of rage and shock, and had not been able to rationally think things through. That had left him wide open to Fíli’s designs, with only a little prodding needed. 

Bilbo settled down next to him, looking mildly disappointed. Against his control, Fíli felt his ears turn the slightest bit pink. 

“Was it necessary to be so blunt?” Bilbo asked conversationally, digging around his person for his own pipe. Lighting it, he leaned back against the bench and surveying his garden. “The poor lad didn’t really seem to have a leg to stand on.” 

Fíli smiled, but there was little humor in it. “Our parents paid a deep, heavy price for the mistakes of an older generation, and now we are paying for theirs. Many believe, after all we’ve been through, that happiness and responsibility are not to be joined. That we must choose one or the other, and bare the consequences of our choice no matter the outcome. And it’s not just my people.” He gestured down the direction Legolas had stormed off in. “That one has had it sitting on him since we left Erebor. He needed a good temper tantrum to get away from it.” 

Bilbo hummed, taking a deep puff from his pipe. After a few heartbeats of silence, he took a breath. 

“Kíli knew you would end up on my doorstep,” he admitted. “Well, you or Dwalin. He told me to where they were going next.”

“And I’d prefer you keep that information to yourself. Kíli is old enough to make his own decisions, no matter how much some of my family wants to disagree.” 

“So you'll go back to Erebor after this?”

“Aye.” Fíli knew his tone was more resigned than he would have preferred. But Bilbo made it very hard to lie around, and he was tired of keeping up appearances. Sure enough, the hobbit picked up on his reluctance, and shot him a sideways look for it. 

“Do you want to go home, Fíli?”

“I just came from home. What I want to do is go back to Dale, and teach Sigrid how to bend wire for jewelry. She keeps finding pieces she likes at the market but they’re foolishly overpriced and I’m sure she could thrive on making her own with better quality materials. What I want is to watch Bain finally hit a bull’s eye while aiming with the wind in his face and compensating correctly because he always overshoots in those conditions. I want to help Tilda steal more cookies than she could possibly eat from the royal kitchens. I want to watch Bard trounce those stuffed up ambassadors who keep banging down Dale’s door for demands of trade agreements and special favors. I want to tell my mother she would already be a grandmother three times over if everyone calmed down and let the cards fall where they may. I want to watch the sun set over a city I know I helped rebuild.” 

Bilbo was smiling by the end of his tirade. 

“Touched on a nerve, did I?”

Fíli’s lips twitched despite himself. “Perhaps."

“Then why don’t you go back?”

“Because Kíli is more important.”

Bilbo was quiet for another long moment, tapping at his pipe thoughtfully. 

“Kíli is important,’ he agreed after a while. “Siblings often are. But I don’t think that's what this is about." 

“You think a lot, Master Boggins.” 

“Stop that. Annoying me won’t distract me. I put up with enough of that behavior from your uncle. But truly, you cannot stay mad at Thorin forever, Fíli.” 

“Probably not. But right now I still am.”

“He did what he thought was best.” 

“Perhaps he did. But what he thought was best almost got Kíli and I killed.” And Óin, Bofur, Bard, and his children as well. They would not have escaped Laketown’s destruction had it not been for Tauriel’s quick thinking and Bard’s aim, and even then they had been hunted for days once the Master realized the new and haughty King Under the Mountain had left his nephews practically unguarded in his own town. He had spent most of that time terrified Kíli would once again succumb to his wounds. That they would be trapped like rabbits and used as hostages against their people. That they would be killed because Thorin would not release Erebor and its treasures for anything in Arda. 

Then the battle raged, and everything had been a blur after that. 

“You defend his actions when you were one of those most wronged by him.”

“We reconciled with each other,” Bilbo said, his eyes distant. “No one acts correctly when so much is at stake.”

“I envy your abilities at forgiveness. I’m still coming to terms with it.” 

“I didn’t think dwarves ran from their problems.” 

“This one decided to. For a while, at least.” 

They sat in silence again, but Fíli could feel the next question brewing in the air between them. Finally, Bilbo shifted in his seat. 

“How…how is Thorin?” he asked, his voice a mix of forced casualness and anxiousness. Fíli resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“As uncompromising as ever. Most of the ambassadors around the court have no idea what to do with a ruler who won’t bargain with them. He has most of them spinning to his wishes simply because he gives them no other choice in the matter. Rather mopey, though. You know you’ll have to make the first move. Mahal knows he never will.” 

“Fíli, you keep your inappropriate thoughts on that to yourself,” Bilbo snapped, his face a healthy shade of red. 

“You miss him. He misses you. This shouldn’t be this complicated, Bilbo.” 

“Nothing about your uncle isn’t complicated,” Bilbo replied sullenly, his toes kicking lightly at the stones that paved his front steps. “And I made my choice. I came back here.” 

“Not an irreversible choice from where I’m sitting. This place is lovely, but you can’t tell me you’re not bored. Not after everything you’ve done.” 

“Frodo--,”

“Would love it in Erebor. And you’ll the great fortune to have one of the finest, most well-trained babysitters to ever grace this earth at your service.”

“Modest, too.”

“We all have our talents.” 

“You’re making a strong case for the happiness of a dwarf you claim to be angry at,” Bilbo teased, even as his face clouded over with thought. Fíli shrugged as he settled back onto the bench. He pushed that particular idea as much as he could, he suspected. Now the rest was up to Bilbo. 

“You can be upset with your family and still care about them. Look at the insanity I endured for Kíli, and I still haven’t forgiven him for losing one of my best hunting knives ten years ago.” 

*

Months spent traveling together had taught Legolas that the famed Durin temper had skipped over the Crown Prince of Erebor. His companion's temperament more matched the ancient oaks that littered the Greenwood from end to end. Legolas used to climb them as a child and, as ancient and imperturbable as they were, they paid him no more mind than they would a sparrow nesting in their branches. He hid among their foliage for days at a time, admiring the shaded light through their leaves and the gnarled knots of their trunks, but he never managed to interrupt their serene worship of the sunlight. For all the golden-haired dwarf was small and terribly young to Legolas' ageless mind, when his steady stare was turned to him the elf found himself thrown back to those towering oaks and their placid ways. 

But Gimli was…was fire and passion. The forges of ancient legend given flesh and soul. Many times Legolas met his eyes he fully expected to see chaos incarnate barely contained in living form. He was so intelligent, and quick to make use of it. Gimli flared hot, but cooled just as swiftly. When Legolas was around him, he could almost feel the fires of the furnace and the drumming of a hammer on an anvil alighting within him, beating out a rhythm as the dents he did not know he was carrying were smoothed over. 

Legolas thought of him as such a little one, but in truth he was not. Young yes, but not little. Not foolish, or arrogant, or short-sighted as so many were when life first began for them. But courage and sharp wits did nothing to replace experience. Few individuals were ever able to travel alone and live to recount the journey. 

He overheard Mithrandir’s discussions with his father on his journey with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and all the dangers they encountered. Trolls coming down from the mountains. Goblins hiding behind every crack and crevasse. Orcs and wargs in constant search for them. Stars above, they had run afoul of more orcs and goblins during their journey west than Legolas had seen in centuries. 

And they were just going to allow Gimli to wonder around unattended amongst all that?! 

Legolas was stunned by the idea. So stunned, in fact, that he did not realize his thunderous storming had brought him back to Gimli and the river. The other was perched on a low boulder by the edge of the gentle rapids, fingers busy as he worked a thick braid into his bright hair. A heavy comb was dangling from his lips, and he was absentmindedly humming to himself. His short beard was already attended to and plaited into simple braids that seemed more for practical use than ornate decoration. 

Legolas let his footfalls be heard to announce his presence, and Gimli’s eyes came up to meet him in stark surprise. Legolas did not know why he stilled, fingers frozen in their movements within his hair. Cocking his head, curiosity briefly overtook his anger. 

“Do you need assistance?” he asked, and was startled when Gimli jerked into motion at that. He tried to mutter something around the comb in his mouth, but it only came out as a string of consonants as his fingers fumbled to finish. Spitting the comb out, he tried again.

“Nay. You just…you just startled me, is all,” he got out, though he was tripping on each word. Legolas’ brows furrowed. 

“You seem rattled.” 

“’s nothing,” Gimli muttered, quickly tying off the last braid. His eyes seemed to be tethered to his boots and his cheeks were red, but he was firm in his insistence and Legolas let it pass. 

He recounted his encounter with Fíli, and by the end of his story Gimli’s earlier embarrassment had vanished. Instead, he had a look of resigned amusement on his face. Sitting with one hand propped up against his cheek and the other twirling his empty pipe with nimble fingers, he whistled gently through his teeth. 

“You find this comical.”

“A bit,” Gimli admitted. “Kíli once told me that, because he looks so much like their Da, people forget that Fíli has any of Lady Dís in him. Than he goes and does something like this…” Gimli shook his head fondly. “Erebor is in for a treat when he’s King of it.” 

“And you are alright with all of this?”

“Well, it looks to have worked out in my favor, so I won’t be complaining too loudly.”

“You cannot go off on your own!” Did no one understand how dangerous it was? How easily Gimli could die? The thought echoed through Legolas’ mind in continuous repetition ever since it had sprouted. 

Gimli blinked up at him. “Care to back up to the part where you’re allowed to tell me what to do?”

“You nearly ate poison!” Legolas’ heart still leapt into his throat at the memory of Gimli returning from a scouting mission with a handful of deep red berries he had claimed to have found for a snack. After Legolas knocked them out of his hand he had made Gimli wash his hands in a nearby creek for most of the evening. "You fell into a river while fighting an orc! If your hair was any more untamable, you would never see an enemy coming, even if he was as plain as day! Do you even know how to bandage a wound? For surely with your behavior you’ll be earning a lot of them!”

“I am not some helpless child to wonder into death’s clutches when left to my own devices for longer than a breath,” Gimli protested, looking at Legolas like he had grown a second head. 

“We confronted an orc pack just on our way here! No matter your skill, you cannot believe you would have won that fight on your own.” 

“How can you believe I wouldn’t?” Gimli replied, his voice raising to match Legolas’. His anger bit deep into Legolas, but he pushed on regardless. It was for the little one’s own good, because the thought of anything happening to him still Legolas’ heart in his throat and twisted his stomach like sour milk.

“This is not a discussion on your battle prowess, it is considerable and you may one day be one of the greatest warriors your race produces, but about sheer numbers! You will risk death for the chance to wonder alone!"

“What would you suggest? I plan to travel, and I plan to explore. Will you trail after me to be sure I don’t end up dead in a ditch on the side of the road?”

“Yes!” 

There was a stunning silence between them after Legolas’ sudden shout. 

Would it be so bad, a treacherous voice in his mind asked. Would his father rage, like many would expect him to, or would he once again follow the path of the unanticipated as he had done time and time again to the shock of many of his kin? Would Gimli’s family be furious, or would they accept him as Lady Dís appeared to have accepted Tauriel? 

He stomped on that voice immediately, even as blood rushed to his face and his heart sped up. Gimli was still staring at him like he was insane. Thranduil always told him he let his mouth get ahead of his thoughts. Why had he not listened to those lessons when he had the opportunity? 

Flight in his mind, Legolas turned to run, but a broad hand caught his belt before he could get more than a few steps away. With a strength he was amazed by, he was hauled backward until the back of his knees collided with the low boulder Gimli was still settled on. Legolas let out an ungraceful sound as he was pulled down beside the dwarf.

“Why,” Gimli snapped, fingers still firm on his belt to keep any thought of escape from his mind. “Do you always run? Rather inconvenient, that. Especially when I want to have a talk.” 

“Talk about what?” The anger and worry had truly dissipated from Legolas now, only to be followed by resignation and defeat. 

“‘Bout what’s happening here.”

“Nothing is happening here, besides your apparent death wish.”

Gimli rolling his eyes. Without letting go of Legolas’ belt, he reached up and flicked the delicate tip of his ear in punishment. When Legolas yelped and jerked back, Gimli ran his thick fingers over the fine strands of his hair in apology. Then, without seeming to think much about it, leaned up and brushed his lips against the injuries spot. His bread was oddly soft against the skin of Legolas’ neck and his breath was warm and inviting. 

When he pulled back, Legolas stared at him with open amazement. Words would not come to his tongue, and his breath seemed to stall in his chest. Gimli’s cheeks took on a slight pinkish hue, but he held his gaze with determined fondness. 

"My ma always told me I let my heart get ahead of my head sometimes,” he whispered when Legolas continued to stare without words. “She tells me I need to slow down. To explain, because sometimes people don't follow what I’m doing.” 

Legolas laughed louder than he needed to, the tension in his body bleeding onto the border of hysteria. 

“My father tells me I often act similarly.”

Gimli smiled at that, tapping Legolas lightly on the nose. 

“See? We’re already more alike than we first thought. We may yet fit.” 

*

They stayed by the river that night, laying together under the trees and the stars instead of trekking back to Bilbo’s hobbit hole. Facing the others under that roof proved daunting, and the mere thought of rising simply made them both laze further into the soft grass. 

They traded very few touches, preferring instead to trade words and stories, but Gimli’s hand never strayed from Legolas’ waist. 

“M’not gonna let you run off on me again,” he muttered when Legolas poked at him about it. 

“I would not do so,” Legolas replied, letting his own hand trail over Gimli’s fiery hair in return. As he trailed slowly down one of the thick braids, the other shuttered under his finger tips. 

“Sometime later,” he muttered. “I will explain to you exactly what you’re doing. It can be quite filthy, let me assure you.”

“Shall I stop?”

“Not for a thousand stars in the sky.”

“There’s a poet in you as well. I would not have thought so.”

Gimli would have grumbled at that, but Legolas had continued to let his hand gently wonder, twining some of the more wiry strands around his knuckle in loose loops. 

“Do you believe there will be later?” he whispered. He could not deny the pull he felt for Gimli and he felt freed in the revelation that it was returned in equal measure, but the path ahead of them was dangerously pitted against them. 

Gimli smiled at him, and Legolas felt the warmth of his heart bleed into the rest of his chest. 

“I told you I was prepared for an adventure."

*

The others endured them for a week before Fíli lost tolerance with them and banished Gimli south to follow the river. It did not occur to Legolas not to follow after him. 

“They may not have made it as far as the sea but you might find a trace of them,” Fíli had explained as they packed. 

“This seems like a foolish waste when you know where they truly are,” Legolas complained, even as Gimli pinched at his thigh for that. 

“I don’t. And would you rather follow me back to Erebor instead?”

Legolas closed his mouth at that. What was between he and Gimli was still too new, too untested. It would never stand the scrutiny of their combined families as it was now. But Fíli was instead sending them as far away from their relatives as possible, giving them time to sort themselves out. Even if it was under the guise of a silly goose chase. 

He had nodded in understanding, and Fíli smiled at them. 

“Be sure to write,” Bilbo had ordered from the kitchen where he was busy stuffing food into their packs. As it was, he had forced Legolas to sit down at his table earlier that week to write out a detailed explanation and apology to his father for his behavior. It was now safety stowed with Fíli to be delivered upon his return to Erebor. 

The south was lush and green, fertile with the love of man rivers. Legolas found he enjoyed the beauty around him more than he was able to enjoy the Shire and its haunting secrets. Though that may have been the company.

Now he and Gimli traveled where their feet took them, talking and laughing and occasionally fighting. And touching more often than not when night set in and only the stars seemed to spy on them.

And sometimes they went in circles, because they were both too stubborn to pull the map out. 

“I told you we should have turned left.” 

“Hush, you.” 

“Admit I was right!” 

“You are not right, you simply failed to be wrong this time."

The sun and the river and the rain guided their path, but by guided each other. And Legolas was quickly finding that little else seemed to matter.

*

Epilogue  
One year later 

Fíli sat back as he finished his story, reveling in Kíli’s envious, enraptured gaze. Behind him, Tauriel was attempting to be more subtle, but he could see he had her with each word. It was pleasing to know his storytelling abilities had not dulled with inattention. 

“And where are they now?” his little brother demanded, ever impatient for the end of the story. 

Fíli shrugged, taking a moment to relight his pipe. It had gone cold during his tale. 

“I couldn’t tell you.”

Kíli huffed out a breath, causing his bangs to flop against his forehead. Fíli needed to remember to tell Tauriel the secret to keeping it semi-tamed: taking sheers to it when Kíli slept worked most often for him. 

His elvish sister-in-law, settled in next to Kíli on the bench of the quiet tavern they had found themselves in, wore a distant expression on her lovely face. 

“Did he seem happy?”

Fíli sat back to consider the question. The tavern was stationed at a crossroads between the Old Forest Road and and ancient, beaten path over the mountains with a long forgotten name. It also budded up against the River Anduin, which put it at a good distance from everything while still close to nearly every Rhovanionan stronghold. Fíli had suspected that, had he simply sat at its tables every night for about a month or so, Kíli and Tauriel would find him more like than not. 

And he had not been wrong. 

“You worry for him?” Kíli asked, concern in his eyes. 

“He is dear to me, _brannon elen_ ,” Tauriel replied, her fingers picking in absentminded movements at Kíli’s hair. Fíli recognized the habit as one their mother often fell into, and wondered if she had picked it up while visiting. “It would ease my guilt to know he has found someone.”

Kíli took her straying hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes devout. 

“They were happy enough I couldn’t stand their company any longer,” Fíli declared, drawing them both out of the circle they had created between them. Trust Kíli to be the most romantic dwarf Mahal ever created. 

“That…that is good," she replied, though her mouth twisted at her inability to fully clarify her thoughts. 

“Words are challenging, dearest,” Kíli teased with a smile. Tauriel flicked his nose in retaliation. 

“Mahal’s hammer, you’re both worse than Thorin,” Fíli commented, breaking them apart again. 

Kíli pulled away from Tauriel, wincing in sympathy.

“Has he been horrible?"

“With Bilbo less than a month out, he’s become unbearable.” After the tenth time Fíli had contemplated locking his uncle in the dungeon and ruling as regent until Thorin remembered what a calm, sane discussion was suppose to sound like, he knew it was time to leave for a spell. Bilbo’s slow, well-reported journey across Middle-Earth had ramped Thorin’s anxiety up to levels unknown, but there was only so much Fíli was prepared to deal with when it came to his emotionally stunted King. He had left Balin to reign in Thorin and had snuck away for some peace from it all. 

He was thrilled to see Frodo again, though. The little hobbit was a gentle, curious soul, and after he described the lad to them the Bardlings were planned to abscond with him the moment he was close enough. 

When he had returned to Erebor with news of Kíli’s marriage, he had been forced to hold off most of those who complained and derailed against it with his blades and sheer force of will. He had expected a brutal argument with Thorin over the matter, but news that Bilbo was considering a move back to the Mountain had swayed him away from the worst of his temper. Fíli played on that shamelessly, waving the journey in Thorin’s face whenever his uncle became too bull-headed or recalcitrant. It was usually enough to distract him until Fíli and Balin could salvage the situation. Dwalin was no help at all, mentioning the hobbit in innocent tones and sending Thorin off into anxious, frustrated fits at the most inconvenient times. 

Bard laughed in the face of his dilemmas, at which point Fíli felt justified in asking how the last batch of suitors for Sigrid’s hand had faired. Watching Bard go up in flames at the mention of his little darling getting married never failed to put a smile on his face, since he knew the eldest Bardling was far too engrossed in her new city to notice the trail of hearts she had already broken. 

Fíli had not been present when Thranduil had received news of the marriage, something he later cursed Balin for. But whatever the Elvenking’s feelings on the matter, he seemed more concerned with the contents of the letter he had brought back from Legolas. Fíli had taken that as a good sign and let the matter lie. 

For all of that, he hoped Legolas and Gimli took their time exploring Eriador and the west. He had contained Kíli and Tauriel’s marriage with all the tricks he knew of, and the precedent of it would help ease tensions if they decided to pursue it further, but Fíli was rather inclined to rest a bit and see to his own affairs before fighting for anyone else’s. 

As for his brother...Fíli watched he and Tauriel across the table, already the prime focus of the other. His brother was happy. He could ask for nothing more from him. 

“They enjoy each other,” Fíli said, turning back to Tauriel. “And compliment each other. It would surprise me if they returned apart.”

Tauriel seemed satisfied with this as she twined fingers together with Kíli.

“And how do things go with Bard?” Kíli asked, causing Fíli’s eyes to narrow. For all his distractions, his brother was quick on some things, and had not missed the slow, quiet circling of he and his boatman.

“He is still Lord of Dale, as I am Crown Prince of Erebor.” 

“To everyone else perhaps.”

“And we are friends to each other.” 

“Still? Best get on with it brother. Human life spans don’t make for long courtships.”

“We all go at the speed we go, dear brother. Elopement isn’t in everyone’s blood.” 

“Better than a snail’s pace.” 

Fíli stared at his grinning brother for a long moment before turning to Tauriel, who was giving the table below their elbows a hard study to keep from smiling.

“Have you heard about the time Kíli got his head stuck in a well bucket for half a day?”

“Fíli!” 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! All done! Hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) 
> 
> Thank you so much to the very talented Sakurita94 for her lovely artwork throughout this story! Her tumblr is here, and srsly check her out here: http://sakurita94.tumblr.com/  
> (don’t follow me i don’t do anything on tumblr, follow her she’s awesome)  
> Here is the link to her wonderful artwork: http://sakurita94.tumblr.com/post/91346132650/
> 
> And thank you to my roommate for putting up with me bouncing ideas and spelling mistaking and for her dealing with me yelling at the Hemingwayapp for telling me my sentences were too complicated. 
> 
> _brannon elen_ \- beloved star. A endearment I liked Tauriel to have


End file.
